Wrung dry
I cater to each traveling
Deathly wisp

Answering
Only to the beckoning cold
To its secrets
Uttered in fiendish haste

Quietly withering
These foul rags I inhabit
Constrict the lone resolve
I defiantly carry

And the world prods
And the world defiles
Never knowing retribution
Never learning of wrath, nor vengeance