Ornaments in silent darkness,
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the image of man now torn from its structure
|
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The smell of need,
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the dwarfed soul of man,
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attuned only to flesh
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suffering from frustration
|
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Alien to our own spirits
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We're naked even in death
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The dawn is yet to come
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to fill us with knowledge
|
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Pulsating waves of colour,
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bleeding off into the black
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A whisper of red screams through the night
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The architects and the flesh
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-----------------
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The Architects (demo)
|
| At the Gates |
