Despondence

Our tower has crumbled Reduced to dust and dreams We have been scorched By bright flames of delusion They are the corpse I am the apparition The lurker beyond the gates A fading spirit roaming the shores It is me that calls out from beyond They were not the bitter cold Or the tantalizing darkness They were a tangible mockery Of this unyielding essence. Their misconceptions were the siege machines that tore our barrier apart And exposed the alien light In our wake, the pious soil the throne In the name of artificial evil Yet Chaos destroys Order, the edge is sharpened Yet Chaos destroys Order, and cleansing fires rage From the distance, the lurkers all await When the time has to, to silence the imposters I will stand, torch in hand And light their funeral flame

Hollow winds, stimulate dying sin A universe above, reflecting in lifeless eyes I am the hope, that kept your spirit whole The brilliant silver, shining through thundering clouds What is this fate to which I have been subjected? Why am I doomed to walk this Earth? What is my destiny, if I must bear this burden? Am I just doomed to die? If all that lays before me, is emptiness of purpose Why must I be at all? Do I exist to forge my own destiny And find my reason to exist? If I'm my own decider, if that powers mine Than I will take control. No longer will I walk, with an empty stare Blind to what I have just seen If I must walk alone, and choose my own path Then I choose to embrace my end If death awaits me, I'll greet it with open heart No fear shall fill my mind, I will not hesitate If there is an angel of death Then he is truly my keeper If I am the hope of man Then I have abandoned you

I've walked the path, the lonely winter road Through desolate forests and dismal plains I rode into forgotten lands, and saw the ruins Crumbling at my feet, no more than a memory A life spent searching, for a world long gone A life wasted, for this world long gone A worn and tired soul, a brittle husk A fading memory, a world not ready I've gazed into the stars, and have seent he universe Yet I still wander, endlessly searching For that which can't be found, yearning for a taste Of the old magic, of the true magic I am not he who shot the albatross I am not he who has but one eye I call upon the dead and their ancient wisdom But it is in vein, this world's not ready Worship the cult, the legend lives on If only in faded memories Remembered by few, from myth to fantasy Forever the mysticism lives