What a silly thing, desiring doom in a dead land. To wish for the END in this vale of useless quarrels. To placate hatred against meaningless masks, hiding the chaff covering the dust in their flat spaces.
Even the sun is under my feet while he mesmerizes the dangling cultured marionnets who to my left or to my right have lost their right to enter into the perfect place of good hearts.
My blood is pure. Because it is of no avail to those who belong to Kali's cohort. I walk over and above the mainstream, in and out of its mantled array, and I dont even try. In my spirit is a key which no slave can ever hold. Those who fight for the world's chatter, lick my feet and eat the crumbs that I neglect.
And the puppet people, they do not know it.
What use have I for the condemned! Those who are awake, have always been my brothers.
A huge death heap fills those who have betrade the god who watches inside.
The death of this world means nothing to the kind in heart.
EGO DORMIO ET COR MEUM VIGILAT.
