The feeling as if cold, jagged steel was carving your flesh
The knowledge of order, chaos and all in between
The awareness of a cold world in which no one breathes
And with yearn

The loneliness in a universe of unlimited creatures
The undiscriminating hate, the curse of being a god
The melancholy of ghosts haunting wherever we go
We are their castles

The phantoms of other times finding its ways through the mist
The useless excellence of a world without soul, world without hope
The violent, ghastly storms of rage
And the silence thereafter

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