Intoxicated with alchemical bliss,
Under a stolen rainbow, bodies are marching.
Thick branches are hiding the path,
No one is making a cross out of them.
The shadows are shady,
The fake kings are empty
And there\'s no one there to expose.
Right on the elders graves,
Incestuous love of Anima and Animus,
Gives birth to androgynous goblins.
Of mourning, cathedrals walls are crumbling
And out of their holy bricks,
Upon the untended garden,
A brutalist eden is made.
An unworthy hero is claiming a throne,
This fool is howling at the sun
And argues that\'s the moon.
Tiamat was awakened,
The fragrance of sharpen swords,
Knocks at the gates.
The defeat is about to be won.