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As it grows through the ages, |
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subconsciously playing against itself |
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until the scale has balanced to the back of the wrong side, |
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it slowly leaves its small cage for a bigger one. |
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Everything was so planned. |
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Step by step the sewage of its omnipresence streams |
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a rigid natural order to a swirling chaos. |
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This friendly evening light is no more. |
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The contaminated cradle has been left further behind. |
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Spectrums of time are filled with this sick presence |
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as the bounds of space are now violently forced. |
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Fleeing from its own destruction through this endless darkness |
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it leads The Core to a predictable perdition. |
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Until The Plan spreads its web around the regathered four dimensions. |
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It was a wrong choice if there was any other. |
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Observation and guidance for and from aeons, |
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where a single quark's journey didn't yet get to an end. |
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Over the threshold of the Monolith. Where knowledge equals ignorance. |
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Where everything once belonged. Where time is forever. |
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Where even nothingness has no shape. Existence could have another meaning now. |
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It would anyway all end the same. The edges are close, mouth open to swallow it all. |
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A sole drapery seeds the desolate fields of the bounds. |
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Floating weak on the alien rock. No possible focus. |
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Standing, beautiful in a morning sun, it was the meaning of everything. |
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The road of the neo-exodus has been sculpted |
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there in stone of dark colours by foreign hands. |
