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Can you feel the void of its substance?
the lash of a million tongues,
licking the wounds of our inner entrapment
the paradox discovers its sentence
in the gallery of obsession
we imagine our introspective self
becoming insane
we are broken pieces of a denied sanity
we, the dehumanized stains of creation,
we only wait for the lie
for the beautiful
illusion that feeds on our fears
will we find ourselves again in a refuge
built upon our last pieces of sanity?
the beautiful illusion from which we can't run away
can you feel the void of its substance?
the lash of a million tongues
licking the wounds of our inner entrapment
we are broken pieces of a denied sanity
we, the dehumanized stains of creation,
we only wait for the lie
for the beautiful
illusion that feeds on our fears
will we find ourselves again in a refuge
built upon our last pieces of sanity?
our last pieces of sanity crawl through non-reality where
consciousness flows in streams of ignorant omniscience and
we outstretch our arms reaching infinity
embracing ourselves in nothingness becoming part of essential architectures