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Dragging an urn full of snow with me on every path I tread.

The stench of decaying memory

and repeating thoughts of dread…

The rot of reminiscence is just like the picking of a scab.

The acid in the vomit bares no resemblance

to the meal that was had.

On pathways storm obscured

Where orange blaze peers through,

The pleasure of a taste of poison

before illness must be endured.

Thumbing through memories of times long passed.

The sweetness long faded, only bitterness will last.

“Kalde tårer faller ned fra himmelen en vinternatt.

de skjaerer inn i bevisstheten som glasskår

sårene vil alltid forbli åpne med den smertefulle sannheten

at vårt bilde av paradis er knust.”

(Poem written and performed by Patrick Næss)

These memories thought immortalized,

melt into disfigured visages of the truth.

The mad prophet’s scripture forever lacking proof.

The ever changing world unsure of all we’ll lose.

The autumn snow brings no solace in a world

we know is doomed.

Nothing cold can stay.

In the world of rot and decay.

The end times underway.

Nothing cold can stay.