I'm the scenery of vendetta

Mind and soul

I'm the shapeless victory

Order and suppression



All in the tower of the virgin

Triumphant in a pale gray light

In despire of how to deal with it

A sweet, turbulent intoxication



Rapidly I yearn to bare the mark

In a tragic understatement of the lions force

A tribe who's independence is no longer

Disturbed by the ragged interception of happy thorns



As I face the whispering

I answer to the master

A biochemical trembling

Voices in my head



And thus I appear with wakeful eyes

Trust insight

A tedious dramatic implant

Like swollen iron feeds itself,

Longing for the moon



Unbreakable and unborn

Sifting the contents of the surface

A ceremony of killers

A scorched fucking snale



In postures of gold

That might be recognized

But as long as there are shelters

You'll always find yourself detained



A huge defenseless atmosphere

Wretched and toiled for centuries

Is ever so tender as long as we're alive

For it is with great wealth that I, declare this



Flapping wings, tired monster

Ruthless in folly frames

Attempting gaiety upon sinister forces

All within, we will win...