October, hell is over

The fog has rolled on down

Now rightfully isolated, thank God

Like everyone else, no sound

Or eyes watching, waiting

Like never ending nighttime

Alone in solitude and so are you

Mist leaves no end in sight

Of the end of the road, no safe abode

Hardly a foot ahead

Is clear to either you or I

Somewhere in the fog, we’re dead.

 

It comes to us all in the end.