Rotting in the pits of his anger
He tunnels deeper down
In a shoveling spiral

As paranoia rings
To and fro
Tolling in brass
From a watchful place
At the peaks of his mind

He struggles through a venomous low
In the dark of the earth
Full of ghosts and shadow

For he is
A continuous death
To be burdened by soil each day
By his undead regrets