The Jester Race

In Flames

Rush faster on the one-way lane

the answers so silent

Rusty gods in their machine-minds armours

grind our souls in the millstone of time

the "deathbed harvest" is dead man's banquet

of mould ridden bread and black, poisoned wine

And we go..our steps so silent

And we go..our blooded trace;

The Jester Race

Calling our to the gathered masses;

their answers so silent

And we go..

Embracing the tools of the neo-wolf age

that speak of silence and silence alone

Offering the tokens, the reliced idols

to the heirs of the newly raped ground

inferior even to the transparent winds

lesser in motion and sound

And we go..

There is no trace of me

in their altered blueprints of life

Gaia impaled on their horns and lances

to fumes from her body give case

as the throng of blind mind savour the scent,

dream-dead from prosaic and hate

Sunwind strokes the electroheart,

ignition roars through the corridors,

stream launching the binary vessels

Vanities in extreme formations

ride into tormorrow's rigid futile scripts

of our dying jester race