Mānbryne - Piach i niepamięć

Still we sip venom from vile mouths. So scorching, yet sweet as honey. It is a taste of concealed ambitions and a smell of shameful dreams. The dance of repressed thoughts on the grave of virtues. A man died here... or was it God? Empty throne, covered in dust of shallow words and broken souls. The rain of heavenly gifts cannot wash this guilt away. Upon the ruins of unity. Upon the edge of madness. The shadow leaks through conflict and strife. On the ruins of unity. Mocking insatiability. What else should we kill within? Sand spills from the cracked hourglass through hands folded in glory! And blood mixes with broken glass! To the bottom, into the oblivion! This final confession... every sin cuts like a whip. It is not a whispering grief, but an arrogant roar from the abyss. No one will know where a man died. No one remembers where God perished. It is not the world that shall burn, but a spark of illusory hope, that the Lord shall claim this empty throne in glory. Knee-deep in a grave - this is where arrogance's roar goes silent. Is this the end we were praying for in our dreams?