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The last rite of passage

The stacking of the corpse

The procession runs the cemetery

A grayest day, as never had

Procession!

The dismantling of the illusions

The encounter of yourself

Dark void of non existence

And the procession, crosses

Procession!

Towards the catacomb

Your mortuary urn

The grave as the womb of solitude

Funeral! The last rite asks way