Woundwort - The Deceit in Triumph

So long we fed on the illusion of being something
A part of the divine plot, a heavenly plan
The blind rewriting the Book of Job
Written in blood, their toll to the faceless God

A walk on broken ankles, carrying our yoke in vain
An attempt to run from the void, in fear of fading away

A journey from nowhere to nothing, from deathbed to acheron
Souls raised for the maw of Hades, born as one to fall as none
What bitter irony to see that triumph holds so much deceit
In the end all hands are empty, when a final breath brings relief

Why does it mean so much to us to leave a monument in this world of dust
To remain as another scar burnt into the rotten soil of this Eden for the lost

What will remain but a name to be forgotten
Another dead body on Charon's ship
All triump disintegrates into ashes
As shades of existence drown in the depths of styx

As wanderers lost in the vortex of chaos
We're fleeing from the iron grip of Thanatos
But with every dying second passing
We pull ourselves deeper into oblivion

Into the endless silence
Into merciless emptiness.