Lyrics
The great truth is that there isn't one
And it only gets worse
Since that conclusion
The irony of being
An extension to nothing
And the force of inertia
Is now a vital factor
And there is despair underneath
Each and every action
Each and every attempt to pierce the armour of numbness
Burning bridges becomes a habit to support
And the frontline expands
Like there's no tomorrow
I envy
The maggots
Their stuff
At least sticks together
Better than laudations of misinformed seers
And those are lengthy annals of shame that we work with
It's like dumping dead meat at the brink of Styx
With a barge that we made of what was left of Yggdrasil
After veterans of spiritual revolts were done with their armchairs
And I don't even remember which brink is which
The odour of sanctity is just refined stench of existence
Shining pearl of Augeas' crown pales in comparison
And there is despair underneath
Each and every action
Each and every attempt to pierce the armour of numbness
Burning bridges becomes a habit to support
And the frontline expands
Like there's no tomorrow
The grotesque eagles of misfortune, well-fed on Thanatos
Sit still
It's the dignity of scavengers
At the ever-growing garbage dump of life
There is something about
The rigid posture
Of a proper, authentic blind
As if extended arms
Reached
To pass his blindness onto others