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The feeling as if cold, jagged steel was carving your flesh |
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The knowledge of order, chaos and all in between |
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The awareness of a cold world in which no one breathes |
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And with yearn |
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The loneliness of a universe of unlimited creatures |
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The undiscriminating hate, the curse of being a god |
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The melancholy of ghosts haunting wherever we go |
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We are their castles |
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The phantoms of other times finding it's ways through the mist |
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The useless excellence of a world without soul, without hope |
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The violent, ghastly storms of rage |
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And the silence thereafter |
