Time grinds slowly, yet the wheel never seems to turn
And as so many times before I stare into the night
And let it take me away
Outside the Dome where images twist into form
Like a typhoon of dead faces that won't leave me alone
I stagger towards the burial ground
And here it calls again
This cancer that feeds off me
Running away from death
A cold naked body staining the winding sheets
Blindfolded and paralyzed, the ideal scenery is set
For the parasite that feeds on the sick
Pulled by the hair and kicked down the stairs of its cortex
A labyrinth of darkness, hear the moans of the tortured
For you should know we're the ones to take the blame
Worthless offerings torn to shreds by the fangs of the insane
At the final stage of madness I will find my peace
No more to desperately cling to a lifelong disease
And from there another journey has started
As I enter the catacombs of the departed
Yet still it calls for me
In death there is no relief
On the fields of death every path leads to an open grave
Time and time again, in my hands the hangman's noose
And here I will stay
Hiding in the wind, where I can dream and descend
To where no light can harm me, no sun to burn my wounds
Only the prayers that call me back to the dawn