Usnea Lathe Of Heaven
Drugs stop the dreams
Machine-fed transgressions
Forced sleep digression
Shift the state of it all
Unconsciously just a sink of horror and depravity;
Even if we have the best of intentions
All in vain we sink with cruel gravity…
Nothing endures, nothing is certain, nothing is the portal, existence is nothing
It is said that the end justifies the means
But what if there is no end?
All of the fools believing, just a grand solipsism
The creases of reality collapse existence is void
Demon hosts; ravage us
Portals into futility; forever opened
Defile creation, imminent decay
Decay, decay, decay, decay, decay, decay...
