And so the words would go together well - in silent age
as no-one dares to look the other way - or turn the page
a spark emerges the silence and claims - to be
I surely know from where its spirit came - and laugh about
the awful boldness trying to surprise - my naked mind
No-one knows how deeply we fell
inside this well - where the rotten pieces of the mirror
once reflected all the world - forever lay
Torn the curtain - scattered by the winds - the fake ideals
collected by the artist for his final tune - or silent rage
intend to web his ultimate cocoon and spin the moon - from May to June
And so the story begins to drift apart from our intended creation
nothing but the spark in the empty room is retaining original order
yes it's real - the hearty gestures - all the gold of mind won't turn the scull right
Only the eye of the observer is reflecting the sparkling illusion
All at once the images turning by and the weak testifying confusion
and it's real - the hearty gestures - all the gold of mind won't turn the scull right
And again there's a pa**ing of memories - out of tune in a flashback of broken dreams
every part is repelling the other ones and the heart is still raging in silence
And so the rise of the aftermath is distorting the chain of causation
and so the spirit relentlessly is exposed to external intervention
yes its real - the growing pain - the fading strength reveals the heel of weakness
And again there's a pa**ing of memories out of turn in a flashback of broken dreams
every part is repelling the other ones and the heart is still raging in silence
Dipped into the specific aura of the floating individual
unable to resist the injections squeezed into it
penetrating propagating the illusion of a reality
and transform the needness of virginal velvet skin
into a scarface pouring out the infected blood
of memories that fall consigned to the gutter of oblivion
Vanished inside of minds asylum
condemned forever to self fertilization
or by chance s**ed off by half a million mouths of pa**ion
eagerly plunge into their delicious cup of venom
copulating with the germs of the mental sauce injected
to form a ba*tard - a divine - stepping out to convert all the unbelievers - or to burn
Fitted out with the divine right - he is there shining brightly into night
like a crusader he swears to convert all the unbelievers
in case of doubt with an iron fist - burning all on the inquisitors list
and from the mud of the gutter form evil creatures with burning sharpness
only excelled by their random nature - swarming out for to conquer the pure
and the earth and the stars resemble - in endless convulsions tremble
And as an endless chain of sparks radiate - the earth emits its mental ma**es
Into the blackest night of naught they transmit - where hope and chance will accidentally meet
where all time will be borne - just wait one moment more - in silent age - we're torn