Album: Cult
My dogma, a trait of this war
Leads to an endless oblivion
I can't see beyond this fixation
As it gouged my eyes out
I'll fall
But never hit the ground
Abolishing gazes surround me
For I am not atoned
Pranayma, now help me breathe
Gasp the last bites of air from this cellar
My lungs constricted by anticipation
as I prepare to enter the other side
I'll fall
But never hit the ground
Constellations disappeared through suffocation
Air vanished through the hole
Left to rot eternally in dimensions beyond unreal
Hell is around the corner and already here
This is the autobiography of a murderer