Depression is a War
- Between men and monsters
- Men with white banners raised on a hill
- Under a sky like a tower of glass
- One hundred riding white horses
- All armored in mail gold and glistening
- Faces weathered from battles countless
- Hair billowing silver out of helmets
- Beneath them a valley covered by trees
- From the forest the monsters now creep
- Out of shadows under the eaves
- Where creatures stirred before the dawn
- Now fleeing from snapping branches
- Roots twisted into nooses as a black
- tide reeking of tar and ash oozes
- out from under the canopy
- Behind the black flood they charge one
- hundred their bodies ragged and beaten
- Covered in sores and rotten flesh
- Faces like the faces of hounds and boars
- Teeth like nails driven into flesh
- Arms like the arms of starved men
- Hands fitted with the talons of vultures
- But eyes like the eyes of children
- Wind from the cold north brings clouds
- Tumbling like black blossoms across the sky
- A man with eyes of gray buried in wrinkles
- Blows a ram's horn and they plunge
- Each man into the valley into the black
- Tide of the forest that swallows them up
- The monsters surround the men
- Slashing at them cutting deep wounds
- Wounds to match the scars they carry
- Wounds that will fester until at last they
- Will drain the strength of a man
- Who bears them and leave him crippled
- Alone
- His armor bloodied and covered in the black
- Tide that reaches out beyond the men
- Beyond the forest and the valley
- Beyond the hill where the men once rode
- Devouring the world in its cold passion