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Description
Look at them, my dear Pet of The Night!
Look at how they live on this fast conveyor.
My lethargy stricken Raven of Light,
Do you feel the Nepenthe in the cold, dense air?!

My blind eyes now see the silk-masked truth.
The apathy-art, which no one else can see.
How they squeal and squirm, their rotting tooth,
Like a flock of insects on the Great Queen Bee.

I felt once so free, and on perfection-brink,
For I knew it was a shameless, loathly, evil lie,
Of the sober powers, who melted gold drink,
Instead of mortal water, all until they die.

But so small the number of my mirror-brothers,
In this mud sunken, of reason barren world.
On the stone sepulchers of our long lost fathers,
I can’t stand the blindness which all of them swirled.

What a speech of truth should I give to you, my pet?!
When everyone with a little piece of mind can see,
That the mold of our lives has never really set,
Yet, own robots of newborns, makes and smiths to be.

I fell from my Throne when I saw my empty Grace,
And now I don’t feel, great or light, yet just alone,
In this lonesome, harsh world that no change wants to pace,
So I speak to you and stay, a God just for my own.

Description
Look at them, my dear Pet of The Night!
Look at how they live on this fast conveyor.
My lethargy stricken Raven of Light,
Do you feel the Nepenthe in the cold, dense air?!

My blind eyes now see the silk-masked truth.
The apathy-art, which no one else can see.
How they squeal and squirm, their rotting tooth,
Like a flock of insects on the Great Queen Bee.

I felt once so free, and on perfection-brink,
For I knew it was a shameless, loathly, evil lie,
Of the sober powers, who melted gold drink,
Instead of mortal water, all until they die.

But so small the number of my mirror-brothers,
In this mud sunken, of reason barren world.
On the stone sepulchers of our long lost fathers,
I can’t stand the blindness which all of them swirled.

What a speech of truth should I give to you, my pet?!
When everyone with a little piece of mind can see,
That the mold of our lives has never really set,
Yet, own robots of newborns, makes and smiths to be.

I fell from my Throne when I saw my empty Grace,
And now I don’t feel, great or light, yet just alone,
In this lonesome, harsh world that no change wants to pace,
So I speak to you and stay, a God just for my own.