The feeling as if cold, jagged steel was carving your flesh 

The knowledge of order, chaos and all in between 

The awareness of a cold world in which no one breathes 

And with yearn 



The loneliness of a universe of unlimited creatures 

The undiscriminating hate, the curse of being a god 

The melancholy of ghosts haunting wherever we go 

We are their castles 



The phantoms of other times finding it's ways through the mist 

The useless excellence of a world without soul, without hope 

The violent, ghastly storms of rage 

And the silence thereafter