Nomad In The King's Hands
Born in a grimace of fight for breath of his soulsCursed
in metaphorsRejected in an ideal molesting of lifeOn a
scream carried by La VeyI am the freedomI am the
significanceA sense of precipitous, dry provocationsThe
leader made of paper has disappearedIn my spatial image
I'm the king of dreamsEscape with camps of lazy orgasmsIn
the manifestation of power and downfallOn the other side,
being all depths of hellsI'm screaming: "freedom"In the
reverence of ungodly childrenconvenient like beast's
eyesForgotten to the frightenedPossessed by the pleasure
of windworshiping evil in the curseI'm scolding with
freedom, agony and fossilIn the symptom of
ecstasySomewhere in a dreamWell-groomed I'm killing your
little godsIn the fire of imperious south I'm hovering
with freedom"Like after experienced captivity in the
shrine of goodthe horde of evil kneels down in a stoned
fault"
