They had nowhere to go , and nothing to do .
Their world was dark infinity .
They were alone in the modern world .
Faithlessly scorning divinity.

They toyed with danger , and black-magic .
Their outlook was bleak and grey .
They conjured up The Great Mage .
Descending numbers marked the final days .

They met alone in solemn secret places .
Their reality became their dreams .
They cleansed all memory with peroxide thought .
Neophytes rose from the ashes of their schemes .

They disdained all true and good convention .
Their muse was Ian Curtis and his songs .
They believed implicitly in Kurt Cobain .
Life cut too short , numbed from all the pain .

They had no sorrow left , nor love to give .
Their time came , sooner rather than later .
They became a sensational suicide sect .
Sterile headlines in cheap newspapers .