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Agony in desert caused by inconscious loudness

Bones instruments floating in the veins

Let fingers rise high above

Asking delicious rhythms of thunder

Hear deities' sculptures of lightning

Summoned in the dead chord temple

Nature creates the magnificent orchestra

Symphony of dead architectures

Harmonies are lying as the sand is moving

Walking to the sickened chord temple

Initiated by the distortion of sand

Raping the soul of melodies

Dissonance as a confluence

Now you can call

Congregation of sound appears

Singing with the guts strings

Dismembering your body

To let the circle as twins

Now with the I and eye, I can call

The thousand years chord temple

But sand is disharmonizing and dying

Master, I am as a gatherer... But

Instruments we are of the sound

Instruments we are of the soul