Can you see the wrinkles on my face?
Dry riverbeds ingrown on my flesh
Carved by time with the chisel of pain
Filled by the sand from the hourglass of life
Can you see through the windows of my eyes?
Dusts of memories sprinkled over dark corners
A thorn
In flesh
Will brand myself in vain
The weight
Of sins
Will shape me in form of God
Can you read the signs on my lips?
I’m a broken mirror reflection
Blurred scrolls written in signs
Words floating in void
A broken piece of what I used to be
I am the archetype, at the edge of the scythe
A thorn
In flesh
Will brand myself in vain
The weight
Of sins
Will shape me in form of God
This oath, I swear
Enflame myself in trance
No grace, no fair
As an astral God I do what thou wilt