Merrimack Omniabsence
The daily signs, in all their irony, remind me of the
absence of chance to turn to something else, for I'm
bound to the Devil with unbreakable chains, firmly held
by His Sons whose hearts are drunk with the liquor of
deception. Faith in the Holy Retriever leaves nothing
much but void, as His silent voice weakens nerves and
sanity. Bleed, bleed the knuckles on the wall of
captivity, covered with clumsy scribblings, emblems of
deficiency, flightiness and vanity; smelling, dripping
urine and lechery from the ground to the roof. Bleed,
bleed the knuckles on the walls of duplicity, for there
are walls, and walls, and walls, and no door...
Revelations through emptiness. Omniabsence filled by His
greatness. There's no way out, no chance to solve a
riddle unconscious of itself, for the mystery is
concealed at the heart of madness. Bleed the knuckles,
bleed for tempting yet sterile appears the way to take by
force and not through inner ascension what it is eagered
for. Revelations through emptiness. Omniabsence filled by
His greatness. Thus the way is clear, but catechism
remains blank. Lost in a cold mist of unearthly
thickness, the Sun abides doubtlessly, desperately,
cruelly omniabsent. Alone among them all... Alone, alone
in the glance of the Devil.