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Palpitation - The Tyrants' imagination

Tremors in the soil

Burnt miasma



I sense the twisting of the edge

The solid polymorphing



I sense the twisting of this age

The essential toxin



Have we come to this point where changes are not made but forced

We face the change of tides of time

While they walk in the currents



We great the void for the fiery sun and our own

Have we ever realised, befor eour own eyes

Those tremors in the earth

- The echoes of earthen lies

- Are those fires that light and heat our cries