| Through dust of ages, burned into ashes of the seer
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| The voice of an ancient echo travels across the astral plane
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| Before the mark of time, before the origin of life
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| What was and what shall be again meet at the crossroad of the divine
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| Washed in anguish, cloaked in shadowed ancestry
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| We stand in duality and await the arrival of the triad
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| Infinity arrived before us on a steed of morbid decay
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| And cast down on our plight, a looming desecration
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| He is the third, the triumvirate, his journey ends here
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| In our temple of atavistic separation
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| His mare of centuries bows and falls from its bones
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| Into a pile of dry flesh, scoria and sinew
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| We are but heretics watching from the edge of the ruins
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| Our maligned veil enshrouds the world below
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| Through the corridors tide, before the light revealed our silent woe
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| A pleasant stillness that suffering could only reward
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| We drag the gods behind us, they perished grasping our cloaks
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| The serpent’s venom spat upon and joined the ranks of the fallen steed
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| We are but travelers in a lost aeon
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| A new dark age of malice… and divinity |