Exiles Of The Golden Age

Why heed a call to arms in a conflict in which nothing remains to struggle for, only to fight against. An inane strife that this fallen world can never comprehend, no more than we understand the demise of a folk we no longer feel a part of. the shining ones of ancient times appear as a distant sun - isolated and remote yet still universal. a flickering remembrance in fading rays of a past dawn and the twilight of this age as this historical cycle approaches its final hour.

Shadows of old whispered throughout the ages; smothered by the roar of the eternal adversary - iconoclast of the ancient truths imprinted on the soul. Genomous hazes of their serpent seed malice carried over our burial grounds and floating in the very veins of the bowels of this earth. the siren's call of hollow riches summon the voracity of men in time; choir of spiritual eunuchs chanting mantras to our great end. governed reign of wing clipped vultures feasting upon the carrion of the camp of saints.

In the sun, even swords of light cast shadows over the soil. Tnd thus, in them we stand for futile strife against the inevitable - through means of darkness, for a cause, which seems righteous; in vain hope of justifying ones life and death as one of meaning. to summon storms in the tidal waves of untold history!...or naught but a mere current in the vast seas of time, not to actually have changed, but at least have tried to break the bondage of our predestined fall.

One cannot break the laws of nature, only be broken by them. Ehe inverted alchemy of western man, turning gold into lead. amalgam ghosts attending the crucifixion of europe, slithering out from her soiled womb with bastardised blood upon the holy lance. entities never meant to be lie upon the anvil of the earth awaiting the mortal blow from the spiritual hammer of an ageless rule.