Lyrics

Instrumental

Instrumental

I am changing in rapture, traversing this well-known picture, moving in relativity, conveying substances that bear infinity, piercing the inexorable will of those blessed planes determinating the architecture of life. Does your slumber bring relief? A deity’s waves take vengeance in their sweetest form, an intoxicating stream of forgetfulness runs through life’s veins, and lies are pulsating through this ocean anon, bearing sweet forgetfulness. It took so long to squeeze infinity out of my veins.

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Nothingness! Sleep well, blissful descendants of blackness, drifting asleep on an opaque sea of forms. Sleep well, seeds enmeshed by shrouds that calm down. Sleep well, humanity, sleep well. Your surface stirs, reflections might drown in your vastness. I admire your incomprehinsible dimension. I hate your depth.

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I enjoy the voices you cast upon me and those of my kind. I praise your omnipresence, while I am mocking at you. I jubilate your majesty. I curse your infamy and suppose thy slimy shores. Water of life. Reflection! Your occurence saddens and pleases at once! Eyes are diving into the promises you cannot keep. If I could, I’d soothe your pain. I feel your call, it reverberates in the void you breathe out. The mirror lies broken, a pitiful reminiscence of the unity it longs to bear. Absurd shivers, scattered all over eternity. Observing the gradual decay of the structure I once called home.

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I am descending to my temple, I am mourning, I am scourged by illusions that delight and serenade like blessed drugs that blacken visions. I am observing the fall of my temple. I am! Still this collapse whirrs unceasingly like a nightmare, but I reap the ears, swaying in the wind of a new consciousness. Harvest has come. The cycle has changed into something finite. The mirror lies broken.
Harvest has come. Absurd shivers that once formed life, now numbing a new reflection. A godlike creator stares into the world he gave birth to. Immense nothingness!

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Your surface stirs, reflections might drown in your vastness, I admire your incomprehinsible dimension. I hate your depth. I enjoy the voices you cast upon me and those of my kind. I praise your omnipresence, while I am mocking at you. I jubilate your majesty. I curse your infamy and suppose thy slimy shores. Water of life.

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Reflection! Your occurence saddens and pleases at once! Eyes are diving into the promises you cannot keep. If I could, I would soothe your pain. I feel your call, it reverberates in the void you breathe out. The mirror lies broken, a pitiful reminiscence of the unity it longs to bear. Absurd shivers, scattered all over eternity. Observing the gradual decay of the structure I once called home.

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I chase away the tiredness you spread. I choke out the seed you planted once. Crying, raging, smashing the veil I suspect, bbut virtually traversing the garden that means life.

Darkness, black. In th’eclipse distilled. Leaning to look if foot might pass down through that chasm. I saw beneath. As far as vision could explore. Looking as if just varnished o’er with that dark pitch, the seat of death. Throws out upon its‘ slimy shores. A reservoir of darkness, black. As moon–drugs in th’eclipse distilled.

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Feeble creature, suffocating, choking, crying, reeling, dying. A cleansing metamorphosis shall sweep away my stupidity. Leaning to look if foot might pass down through that chasm I saw beneath. As far as vision could explore
the jetty sides. As smooth as glass.

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Looking as if just varnished o’er with that dark pitch. The seat of death throws out upon. A reservoir of darkness, black. As witches‘ cauldrons are, when filled with moon-drugs in th’eclipse distilled. Leaning to look if foot might pass down through that chasm I saw beneath.

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As far as vision could explore. Slumber, watcher, till the spheres. Six and twenty thousand years. Have revolved and I return to the spot where now I burn. Other stars anon shall rise to the axis of the skies. The skies!

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Other stars anon shall rise to the axis of the skies. The stars that soothe. The stars that bless with the sweetest forgetfulness. Only when my round is o’er shall the past disturb my door.

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A reservoir of darkness, black. Darkness, black. As witches cauldrons.

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Words taken from ALCIPHRON by Thomas Moore ( 1779-1852 ), redacted by Ingurgitating Oblivion

Traveling in sickening forgetfulness. Changing in relativity. Existence within a lie.

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Yelling into nothingness. Lucid eyes are searching for something in a void. Ignorance is a comfortable perspective. I am gazing towards the flickering light that fades within this nothingness. Why?