All gates are locked. I can't turn the keys.
I am floating into me - sad
Surrounded or protected? I don't know.
By a sphere isolating me from my arge to kill.
My mouth is dry and claims blood.
Death is the road to awe.
Demons in my deepest eyes are playing on that tree.
Where blood is boiling and aura is freezing.
The owl and the reptile stand on a chess-board.
I am flying above me - sick.
Give me words and guts to tell them.
Heads must fall.
Death is the road to awe.