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Into the bleakest of voids where all light is swallowed

we drift through the relicts of time the ancients to follow.

And rise to the borders of space, earth left vast and hollow.

As we sank in the dust of the deserts of moon

we drank the sun we worshipped and ate the skies we reached.

When the stars up above never seemed to come nearer

we were boiling in our blood haunted and ridden by fears.

Nomads of existence, driven by visions of God

guided by idols of terror that mark our way to extinction.

All wrapped in rags the old man plays a tune on his bony harp.

Mirthless and dark. Grief and dementia glint in his eye:

„All life is drowned, measured by HIM!

Pale minds reach out and praise the King!

From Pluto’s grounds to Saturn’s rings

the sweetest song that men could sing.”

The king’s holy temple’s been burned

his spirit still wails at the wall.

Galilei’s moon has been smirched

no beacons there left to fall.

Light years behind the sun, further we drift into the unknown.

Reminiscent light that derides, laughs at the ones still seeking.

Far from redemption all journeys end.

The black space echoes our signals sent.

Illumination!

Mercyless death.

Encrusted bodies

All systems red.