From this oblique matrix

He watches the plains of life

Silent are now the spirits

And the things have lost their voice. 



The first born man knows and suffers.

The dead are walking

his heart with them. 



The memory of darkness

Burns again

Making him the living witness

Of a collapsing universe. 



The first born man knows and suffers

The dead are walking 



With hands like knives

With hands like knives

With hands like knives