Tell me: have you forsaken the silken nest for a decaying fellowship?
What is it that you follow, anyway?
That path that to you leads forward in reality
Plunges into the Red Sea as far as open eyes can stand to see.
My tribe sits in the mud with folded lotus flower
Lamenting the parting of emulsified ships, as Aries
God of War puts the plague of absent-mind
To your cracked lips.
Our songs bulbous organisms breathing unto a mutant rhythm
That time cannot seem to uncover -
That space cannot seem to digest;
Its melodies manifest in wrinkled faces
Like plodding toads along the water's edge.
The ancient Threat wields its sword
In preparation for impending battle,
The cries of which elude your temporal facade
So cunningly devised.
Its robes valued by high priests time protects
But totality rejects from beneath scattered jewels.
Tell me yet:
What is it that you follow?
The rug is pulled from behind
Grazing polished leather boots
And manicured wheat fields
Leaving only the synchronous chirps of echoes
Of clouds
Of empty shadows aroused, while aloud
The last sacrament is proclaimed to have materialized:
It is the return of the ancient bard, who,
Enchained like Urizen,
Towers overhead in bloody resignation.
What is it that you follow, anyway?
That path that to you leads forward in reality
Plunges into the Red Sea as far as open eyes can stand to see.
My tribe sits in the mud with folded lotus flower
Lamenting the parting of emulsified ships, as Aries
God of War puts the plague of absent-mind
To your cracked lips.
Our songs bulbous organisms breathing unto a mutant rhythm
That time cannot seem to uncover -
That space cannot seem to digest;
Its melodies manifest in wrinkled faces
Like plodding toads along the water's edge.
The ancient Threat wields its sword
In preparation for impending battle,
The cries of which elude your temporal facade
So cunningly devised.
Its robes valued by high priests time protects
But totality rejects from beneath scattered jewels.
Tell me yet:
What is it that you follow?
The rug is pulled from behind
Grazing polished leather boots
And manicured wheat fields
Leaving only the synchronous chirps of echoes
Of clouds
Of empty shadows aroused, while aloud
The last sacrament is proclaimed to have materialized:
It is the return of the ancient bard, who,
Enchained like Urizen,
Towers overhead in bloody resignation.