Lyrics Actus Primus - AWE

Actus Primus

t’s at the most crucial moment when answers to great questions need not be
debated, but acted.
Should a golem that discovers its own nature end itself in despair,
or re-assume its role in resignation?
We now see, the virtuous ape attempting to adopt the role of the Creator.
But what good of is God deprived of omnipotence and immortality?
How confident is a supreme Judge, looking through a lens of myopia?
To embrace Chaos and feed out of doubt…
The curse which is placed upon humanity, is rather not the wrong at its heart,
But the prisons imposed by causality, the deception of autonomy,
The despair of inadequacy.
Incurvatus in se.
Woe to you, strayed sheep!
Still directionless in spite of your consummations.
For it is not the ultimate void which is the most monstrous of destinies,
but a small light…
That is yourself, surrounded by a universe of darkest malice,
The fear of transfiguration, a nescient creature tearing its own flesh.
What is the true essence of human desire, but a hopeless conflict with the
inescapable?
A consciousness that has so gracefully elevated from dust to spirit,
should accept no reconciliation,
But voraciously consume what only deserves to be experienced, not fathomed or
figured.
For the young soul, fixated through illuminating ordeals on Ideals of
Absoluteness
An inquisitive gaze unmasks all mortal affirmations as vulgar delusion,
dreadful impartiality.
Am I expected to ascend on rotten steps?
Curse to whom had conceived the Notion of Truth!
The greatest deceptor of common man, an inviting light from beyond eternity
For others to seek for in despair.
Still, despicably so, by swimming in the filth.
«What we cannot speak of, we must pass over in silence.»
A circle of Magi perched upon Gaia’s summit.
Those in front, are slowly shrinking into nothingness
Below, drenched in blood their castrated limbs lie.
Others, walking madly with carved out eyes,
Or laying still with a stare of arid comfort.
Bent over for Divine Grace.
«Shall you join us?»
«Through Awe I can shape the reality of others, but who will be the agent of
mine?»
In the abode of the humble, no hungry soul should abide.
For small, timid striders, there is no resting place but underneath the eternal
sand’s embrace.
And in-between humanity, there is nothing else certain but eternal strife
Of the meekly, against the courageous, of the simple, against the perplexed.
Defiance and Retribution.