- cifra
We are dying in the wake of gods and decrees reamin arcane
And everything around as is a consequence of pain
The writings on the wall depict a truth that no one reads
A government of puppets blinded by another creed
Burning voice of insanity
Nothing is the same
Barren lands of the idle man
Find all the lines in your hand
Blinding storms are surrounding us
Take control
In our cups, poisoned wine
Find all the lines in your hands
