Through dust of ages, burned into ashes of the seer The voice of an ancient echo travels across the astral plane Before the mark of time, before the origin of life What was and what shall be again meet at the crossroad of the divine Washed in anguish, cloaked in shadowed ancestry We stand in duality and await the arrival of the triad Infinity arrived before us on a steed of morbid decay and cast down on our plight, a looming desecration He is the third, the triumvirate, his journey ends here in our temple of atavistic separation His mare of centuries bows and falls from its bones into a pile of dry flesh, scoria and sinew We are but heretics watching from the edge of the ruins Our maligned veil enshrouds the world below Through the corridors tide, before the light revealed our silent woe A pleasant stillness that suffering could only reward We drag the gods behind us, they perished grasping our cloaks The serpents venom spat upon and joined the ranks of the fallen steed We are but travelers in a lost aeon A new dark age of malice... and divinity
steed, triumvirate, scoria, atavistic, enshrouds