I generate my infinite form Become that of primitive worlds Cursed into the shackles of intellect Flourished in the time of that which is formless
Born not of the earth Possession of native flesh to mask infiltration Thus relinquishing the spirit that guides my kind Flourished in the time of that which is formless
Sight Be my primitive sacrifice
I collect the desired artifacts of That which another land may be cultivated
Souls aid my abilities of levitation So the spirit may endow me with reclamation of their kind
I generate my infinite form Become that of primitive worlds Cursed into the shackles of intellect Flourished in the time of that which is formless
Born not of the earth Possession of native flesh to mask infiltration
[?]
It is revealed in those who disintegrate before me I thirst for the temple that bears the citrus
