Vagrant, cold winds...over mourningly vent trees
Low clouds gather, irrevent to life
Their quiet sounds seep into my being
Creating a deadly lie

Lie in truth, truth in lie
Life of Death, Death of life
Wreaking tentacles of fate
Reveal life as a disease

Human time leaves me
Draining veins in my strife
An elusive dream unravels
In the absence of meaning

I see faces with no eyes
Hives of flesh, covered wih flies
They are the haunters of minds
The granters of death

"Be you the messanger,
black in spirit, your tragedy we shall venerate..."
Lifeless serenade
Sung by grevious forms
These voices from the ground
Are not of living breath

I carry the visceral secret
On my flight to illumination
To welcome the dream