Tell the truth and nothing more,
The devils ground I stomp across,
Until the moonlit nights grow dull,
Among the center do unfold.

For in my solitude I tore,
Of nothing but a hideous loss,
I sit beside his worn down skull,
Aware of the light that I behold.

Take up the bones and through the door,
With everything: one, two, three TOSS,
Now sit down to the drink I mull,
Ignore the voices from which scold.

Another truth and nothing more,
I no longer stomp across,
The moonlight in truth shall never dull,
In the center, it will not unfold.

My triumph comes, but I abhor,
It is nothing more than useless dross,
However more it is null,
Yet among the triumphs that I still hold.

They are nothing more than that of a corpse,
The most of which hold a cost,
But now I begin to try and lull,
And do exactly as I’ve been told.

Truth, truth, and nothing more,
A foot stomps long across,
Now the moon’s light tries to dull,
Yet in the center as I’ve told it shall never there unfold.