I'm your surreal breath, twisting their mings. Like deadweight, like final burden. Declintion like lead in your veins. I tremble your sacred paths, and through the unsacred realms. Time won't tie me. And the iron reality - lifelong and endlessly grim. I hear the language of the dying, all senseless of all divine? I breath the shadows engaged to your visions. With dead rites concealed? Of does the time bend for me?