Septic Flesh On The Topmost Step Of The Earth
A stranger once whispered: A fallen angel is someone not aware of his authentic identity Because the fall occured nowhere except on the inner plains And the broken wing was nothing but the bleeding memory The creators of the prophecies Have seen pages yet unturned From a book that can not be turned Or expressed from mouths of scorn Observing the divine marriage Between the solid soil and the ether Step on the lightnings and ascend On the topmost step of the earth Stepping on the belt that surrounds the sphere Endless are the joys of the infinite quest For the timeless explorer And the child that lurks inside On the topmost step of the earth Stepping on the belt that surrounds the sphere A billion toys to play, countless more to invent In the mental playground, around its solid tree The creators of the prophecies Have seen pages yet unturned From a book that can not be turned Or expressed from mouths of scorn On the topmost step of the earth On the topmost step of the earth Stepping on the belt that surrounds the sphere
