[Lyric] All Is Occulted by Swathes of Ego (In Human Form)

Though thy eyes rush tears into streams
A dead calm arises within
Invisible disconnection
To the inner workings

Abject calls from my depleting lungs
Wading through the psychic turbulence
Last breaths withdrawn by worth
Mind tricked into non existence

"The delirium of negation, I abjure life's oath
A transfixed dilemma, waiting in the subconscious
All oneness dies within me, for I am nothing
An emptiness beyond empty
An abandoned body without a ghost"

Mirror image soon evolved into vanishing
A House of Flames now a Temple of Ashes
Now deprived by the alignments of planets
Awakening curse shook the cosmic foundations
These empty spaces between the wires that program dormant minds
Structured doses of images, canceling out all logic and reason

You'll never get to the banquet
Where you linger your food has no taste
Between consciousness and altered state
Shaken from your vegetable torpor
Where lies the alternative?
We are all in mercy's hands

This is the clock cleansing itself of it's last hours
Like grains of sand falling through our hands

Fragments of time disappeared into memory
Like the dust that we are all from and soon will return

Soon I will be nothing, no more

All this time you believed you never existed
An empty vessel no longer housing a soul

But one must exist, to be non existent...

The path has been plagued by ego
Plummeting us into a foreseen abyss
Telepathic seeds sewn into inner most thoughts
Conundrum conjured in a compartmentalized mind

This gauntlet I ran, over and over again
A frustrated breath leaves my lungs

Soon it was all unhidden
This unknown flagellation
Obscured by the shifts of the Sun
As it leaves us in a distant chaos
Reveal the pall that has dampened my soul
For what seems to be an eternity
I disappear faster every year...
(Worms have been there counting)
The more I feel I am dead
The more I fear my death...

Paranormal frequencies circumvent through mazes
The corridors of thine entrapment
Bicuspid exercised, Last will redacted
Sent down to scourge thy own form
And fabricate malpractice...
How the angelic choirs sing their notes
Their clamoring is the wailing of the heartbroken
Their vortex is a lie
Their solemn psalms reflect this
For they only know submission
Not the glory of independence