White Ward - False Light

Hopeless gloom and the identity of ideas
In this world of bright lights and flashes
I am the smallest grain of sand, a fragment of passions
I am driven by a surplus of desires and tensions

The postmortem Library of Alexandria
Reveals its secret treasures, we drown in them
It is a digital stack of desires
A culture of known but unreachable pleasures
Run to the end
In this realm
You will never find yourself, nor believe in self
If you are enslaved

A culture in a form of bacterial reproduction
Forces me to leave my comfort zone
Everything around is a mess and destruction
No longer I feel lucky, only alone

Wisdom turns to water, draining through my hands
Slowly vaporizing, it returns to me again
Gentle drops of rain fall over my skin
A fear to lose is the most destructive sin

Suspended in time
Lost treasures return
Blind daredevils and rapists
Reap the fruits of short-term victories
Fatly erring and fatally erroring
They desperately sway history

Sharp knives don't know the truth
Their desire is power
Bullets never see the innocent
Their destiny is fire

The gates of hell are open
The nether world is empty
We are the slaves of cluelessness and fear
All of our deeds are real
We are the demons who pretend to be
Vestal and righteous
Vestal and righteous

Hopeless gloom and the identity of ideas is all that I have
In this world of bright lights and flashes
I am the smallest grain of sand, a fragment of passions
I am driven by a surplus of desires and tensions

Denounce the false light
Trace the advent of the night
Denounce the false light
Trace the advent of the night