Mud Grave

In the mud where rotting animals bloom Urban honking Echoes of someone hidden from sight saying "This was our home." In the mud in the bed of the river at night Echoes, echoes In trains and traffic "This was our home." Someone insistently stayed in this spot Lying and bragging The desperate promoters Cold and alone In the mud, at the end of the unknown world All discovered All forgotten Cold and alone And the white stag is looming Above its mud grave Shining, cursing Built on bones