There is no chorus of the damned
No acapella choir of the apocalypse
Only the siren song of singular suffering
Each of the forsaken moan alone, as one.
In their intimate places of sorrow
Scattered over the blasted heath of regret
Those vanquished by the maligned message
Raise their voices in praise of none.
First choice for 1st Voice, this baleful drone
Of a cheer-abandoned balladeer
Who chills the blood of all who would hear
As he sings to thee of thy kingdom come undone.