Tekster: Million Dead. Other. Gnostic Front.

It's tragic to concede geothermals
To take the Deus from the Machina and yet what could I have done?
I bowed my head and just injured my neck.
What could I have said?
Oh yes, TS, I have stuttered your words.
What could I accept?
Because if it's all or nothing then I've made my choice.
What must I reject?

And I know that in silence there is wisdom but I know that this beauty is marred with Peter's scars.
And I know that in this vastness is veneration
But the bone was broke when Nicea spoke.

The beauty becomes the model
Becomes the law
Becomes the weight
Becomes the wisdom.
Not so far from surrendering myself
Not so far from letting my sandcastles get washed away
Not so far from wallowing in the pity effaced or striking my own damn pose.

But I know that in silence there is wisdom and I know that this beauty is marred with Peter's scars
And I know that in this vastness is veneration
But I know that I can't walk this road with my bones broke.