- cifra
Hardened... Like when the fresh air burns the lungs
And spiraling harvests coagulate the mind that's rotting away
Thoughts within soil, from within the forms as such
Behind death's realms of Earth-bound souls
Forever (caught) in a past that never happened
Astral trepanation yields transcendental ecstasies
And woes of frigid distance no longer feel so far
But within reason, though out of reach
Through the doors we each must travel, different markings either side
Without knowing the different colors of each beast's aura
Predisposed inertia propagate alien histories
As timelines weave between them while you sleep
