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Kriegsmaschine
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To Ashen Havens
How come this light reveals none of its source and nature, as it guides the thirsty through lands of drought to new springs?
In purest suffering lies purest insight.
A faint gleam of bottomless perdition.
Many are called yet none will be chosen.
Cold sun shines upon their wanderings.
How come the voice of a shining angel is silent and feeble, as it sings the radiant glory and splendor of high heavens?
From scorched foundations to ashen havens.
From withered temples to vacant thrones.
In glacial wastes, beneath empty skies, a monument of decay stands tall amidst ruin.
Scorn and abhorrence. Virtue is a farce.
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The shepherd spits at its flock.
There comes the only revelation - a mocking laughter of the fellow fallen.
In purest suffering lies purest insight.
A faint gleam of bottomless perdition.
Many are called yet none will be chosen.
Cold sun shines upon their wanderings.
How come the lord delights in transience, as we perish and fade in mere presence of his light?
How come these springs to ease our thirst flow with the tears of our beloved?
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