You come to me as the flies to the spider
|
blinded from my intellectual darkening
|
Try to move in the
|
holographic image of choice
|
and I'll project you one of my corridors
|
|
The cobweb is so carefully woven
|
That even the veil dressed fates
|
bow with admiration.
|
It has so many ways,
|
countless like my names
|
|
How I adore to mask the truth
|
so that only the worthy of my
|
generosity could find it.
|
|
I can wait enthrowned in the center
|
of this necropolis, with patience
|
built upon the solid stones
|
of millenniums
|
|
Keep feeding on the notorious lotus
|
swallowing my sweet promises
|
to sustain your lie made world
|
|
Every bite erases the instinct
|
so you'll become so clean, so empty
|
keep on feeding me
|
|
-----------------
|
So Clean, So Empty
|
| Septic Flesh |
