Children cry as the old men die
A perfect circle of life
There is no point as there is no end
Bound for existence in scorn
Locked in a cellar of personal self
A creature I be blind
Held by the shackles and impelled with nails
A-waiting once more to be born
The greed of joy
A lack of sense
Now lay and whine
Illusions fade
An immense void
Of nothingness
A perfect pure
Unconsciousness
Come, observe
The rot of thousand words
There is no use in reaching
for the gods
Unknown is the truth -
You're never to find out
You drift in a mist
There's no way to get out
The greed of joy
A lack of sense
Now lay and whine
Illusions fade
An immense void
Of nothingness
A perfect pure
Unconsciousness
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