Ragnarok

Conflicting paths, an imperceptible continuum through the lens of the population

Unending, frozen fallacy I, the observer, the arbiter, the accuser, the author of quietus, have turned a gaze onto humankind

As the kirk bells deafen, and the sirens scream, their way of life warps my path to clemency

In time you shall realize ascension may only occur with the death of mankind in the palm of my hands

Frozen I must send my horde of flies and ticks across the valleys and up through the streets

To chip away at the tissue and cartilage of every survivor and wielder of swords

There is no war a display of unworthy combatants wither before me

It's not a choice the end draws near this is no war

A display of unworthy combatants wither before me

Without a choice, the end draws near

Sweep dust from my motionless hands collected, during cycles of lust

The only movement as of late digging into brimstone

Crying tears built upon broken trust

Ominous in nature potential alliances snap at the sight of these dying eyes

Writhe in silence shift my body in the dark I awaken into the void

Sprinting forward into its inviting mouth

Cover my wings in soil rip my carcass from the crust, home into the ether’s arms

The bell has rung

Echoing across the plains

Engulfing the space between realities

Bravery is futile, the mirror harkens back to the throne of persistent justice chewing through the barriers

To gorge upon the final remnants of absolution

In the wake ov Sòl, at the foot ov the cross, ethereal scrolls ov labyrinthine lore beckons wretchedness upon the gates

Reverberation of hope eclipsed

The maggots consuming the fresh glistening flesh

Unearthly warriors gnawing on the viscera, viciously chomping, and clawing away