How would you measure ruin?
How would you assess fall?
How would you separate sins
When all bear the same mark?
This sacred desert is quiet
Lost hopes flicker in the sand
Only roamed by fiends who seek to corrupt
Pneuma and prey on sarx
Grey prince is crowned
Soul aberration
Un-person, un-einheit
Idle zero
With golden nails, it cuts through cold flesh
To assemble a face of its own
Cracked shards of forgotten dreams
To substitute the rift of its own
The eternal fire runs high and vast
Upon bones of the righteous
As brethren rise as brethren fall
It is hard to miss that it is crowded
In lowest pits of despair
To lose all and regret none
