The feeling as if cold, jagged steel was carving your flesh

The knowledge of order, chaos and all in between

The awareness of a cold world in which no one breathes

And with yearn



The loneliness of a universe of unlimited creatures

The undiscriminating hate, the curse of being a god

The melancholy of ghosts haunting wherever we go

We are their castles



The phantoms of other times finding it's ways through the mist

The useless excellence of a world without soul, without hope

The violent, ghastly storms of rage

And the silence thereafter