From this oblique matrix
He watches the plains of life
Silent are now the spirits

And the things have lost their voice.

The first born man knows and suffers.

The dead are walking
his heart with them.


The memory of darkness
Burns again
Making him the living witness

Of a collapsing universe.

The first born man knows and suffers

The dead are walking

With hands like knives

With hands like knives
With hands like knives