Disaffected The Praxis Of The Non-being
As I initiate this journey, wrapped in rhapsody of
sounds
Wrapped in roses
Rejoicing at every footstep as the wind swinged in
evasive frenzy
Like a buzzing of insects across the black
But enlightened night
As I initiate this journey, planned before I be,
Unseen by most, innocent in all its splendor,
A laying body cold, in contemplating joy
Exhales from the attempt, repent to get near
The praxis of the non-being
A lifeless body casts more than it is seen
Like memory forever lasts
The praxis of the non-being
Ever holding his secrets, ever... to be... revealed...
destiny
Foresee the traceries the galaxies make, as they spiral
through the void
And the intricate patterns the living make
A lifeless body casts more than it is seen
Like memory forever lasts
The praxis of the non-being
Ever holding his secrets, ever... to be... revealed...
destiny
Smells like everlasting dust, remaining ashes
Leaving no footprints, lasting no shadow
The praxis of the non-being, a lifeless body casts
More than it is seen, like memory forever lasts.
"...the cult of the dead in the old Celtic necromancy,
where one is never truly "dead" while he's still
remembered by the living through his deeds, and after
all the dead are just sleeping..."
