Beyond the stage where we all meet,
The mirages of children kings,
Sin omnium breeds reveries:
All must be dead,
The windmen's lurid masks & hellish laughters.
Greed generation zero, wheels in the world machine,
Child emperors 2000 countlessly march to the katalypse.
When suicide turns shots & showers golden in siren seas
And swallowing until we sleep - strangulation alpha
With thirteen wounds in every hand
We creep the circles for our lord,
A burning star for each to gnaw,
All must be dead
Except the forests of the strangled necks.
And through year-millions we stray million manias,
A cannibal-lighthouse was built of our nights.
And it drags us towards sweet assnakements
Through deep gullet-tunnels with dark on each side.
Fornever will a word lament,
Nor any deeds our feelings show,
Since somewhen times are sure to come
When all is dead,
In all directions throttled to the ground.
