Children cry as the old men die A perfect circle of life There is no point as there is no end Bound for existence in scorn Locked in a cellar of personal self A creature I be blind Held by the shackles and impelled with nails A-waiting once more to be born The greed of joy A lack of sense Now lay and whine Illusions fade An immense void Of nothingness A perfect pure Unconsciousness Come, observe The rot of thousand words There is no use in reaching For the gods Unknown is the truth - You're never to find out You drift in a mist There's no way to get out The greed of joy A lack of sense Now lay and whine Illusions fade An immense void Of nothingness A perfect pure Unconsciousness