You are picking crops of the acts

Acted and no existed

Tunnels to infinity

Gloomy, cold and wet

Are Gaping like beast's muzzle

A lots of gates are open

On the edges of mind and dreams

Lack of time is your the worst nightmare

Feelings against instincts

Slowly dying with resistance

Where your bodies rascals

Are going for a butcher

Pie after pie, for pieces

Step by step to the edge

Scattered in the abyss, lonely

Your fate-your choice

Rapid stream of time is a transformation

Against you and for you

Whispers-answer for unknown

Naked triviality of life

Shroud of darkness surrounding the souls

"Dreams those small pieces of death

How I hate you"