Golden light’s descending
Through the fading summer air,
Through the evening’s soft despair,
Into a pool of grey asphalt.
Weak reflections are ascending
Through the waiting call of dusk,
Through the weeping beauty’s mask
Into the infernal furnace.
God, the artist, painter, nothing,
Drawing shades of ancient splendour,
Blazing all mourning in the streets,
Claiming his deceitful existence.
Mind, the inventor, master, all,
Soaking in the milky blue-sky -
Greedily assimilating illusion,
Coughing out the vacant words.
Crimson light’s ascending
Through the surreal summer silence,
Through the non- existent guidance
Into the realm of heaven.
Into the realm of god we stride,
Golden substance lights the path
Still craving for the other side,
Fear of death nourishes our wrath.
To Eden we faithfully direct our pace,
Traversing the enlightened moors,
Till crumbling cities hide their face
Beneath pilgrim’s march, our final cure.
Uncertain thoughts are descending
Through the sun’s weakening glance,
Through the feverish melting trance
Into the ruins of our paradise.
Lie, the artist, divinity, all,
Showing horrid scenes of light,
Leaving grotesque two- faced smiles
Hollowing out the vacant words.
And as the sun is freezing high above,
We’re screaming for our promised love,
While we do spot our last demise,
We that killed our only paradise.
Thy truth doth hurt, oh frozen sun,
Heaven is, was, will be, for none…
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