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He who stands on the sacred threshold

Covers up the golden Sun of Today

Forming the rays of his own shadow

with arms reaching further than light

He who stands in the middle of the scale

of the perfect balance

Spreading bold determination

to start the motionless motion

To cut through the source

of the artificial light

observing every stream running backwards

To turn the back

on shining promises of hope

witnessing all eyes go sour and dry

As the horror of the unavoidable

starts the Coldest Fire

It rushes through every structure

Leaving the pale burns of Dire Remembrance

His presence enclosed within

like the nexus of a cavity

compressed and tighten nothingness

pure vacuum of the End

His austere face manifests

the stare of inconceivable dread

Those eyes speak of no world

No thing, no soul, no spirit

Now he opens his dire mouth

the purest terror of no sound

the bottomless pit of every goal

the right venom for every soul

The silence of the inevitable

cuts open the eyelids of a dreamer

Sleeper’s living spine

bursts into cracks

a whole construct of man into ash