1. HANG ME FROM A THOUSAND SUNS

The mind is a wasteland
The heart, it's cruel steward
Dust, the reflection of God
Corrupted image, tyranny
Limited perception

Limited perception
Yet it is consuming
Tyranny of the flesh

The mind is a host of maggots
Feeding off of blackened rot
Recede to darkness' walls
Beseech creation to fall away
Woe to prideful self-worship
Feeding perception into comfort
The crown of pride is a parasite
Insidious, the nature of self-indulgence

Forgive me, Lord
My lack or remorse
Hang me from
A thousand suns
You, whom bless
The iniquitous
Rend the rancid
Crown of pride
Tear it from my
Relentless head
Forgive me my
Life of apathy
Pride creates
A false god
Superbia Falsum
Deum Creat


2. A RESCENDING HAND

"How long Lord?
Will you hide Your face forever?
How long will
Your wrath burn like fire?"

Why does He suffer us for so long?

"Should we sin on now
That grace should abound?"
I know the answer
Yet I had ignored it

Why does He seek out
They so entangled?

"Should we sin on now
That grace should abound?"
I know the answer
Yet I still ignore it

I see the long, indifferent
Stare turning to desolation

Long does He suffer
Long does He await

Can we really be surprised
When our indifference is met
With a rescinding hand
And the shattering of idols?

Long does He suffer
And many still will
See His grace reveal
But He is not mocked
How long will He, then?
When will this end?
Many times before
Another callous horde

"Should we then sin on now
That grace should abound?"
We knew the answer
Yet here we continue

Here we are now
Meet the rescinding hand

Shattered be the altars

"How long Lord?
Will you hide Your face forever?
How long will
Your wrath burn like fire?"


3. THE CLOSEST PLACE TO NOTHINGNESS

Why do we tarry, and hope for chance
Do we seek glories abundant?

How many chances do we deserve?
Truthfully not even the one
How many chances do we have left?
Maybe even less than we believe

Death has no love
Death is not rest
Disintegration

The closest place to nothingness

How many chances do we deserve?
Truthfully not even the one
How many chances do we have left?
Maybe even less than we believe

Do you hope for rest
In the bowels of Sheol?
The closest place to nothingness

Do you hope for rest there
In the bowels of Sheol?
Do you believe that
All roads lead to rest?

The crucified thief
That testified of the Son
Not all that live here
Are given such chance


4. FALL ON YOUR SWORD

Opportunism burned innocence
Pride and arrogance killed purity

You are not His usurper
A jaded caricature
His mercies you’d only
Discard from your hand

Do you wish for the world
Turned to cinder, just know
You and your beloved fuel
The furnace, too

The soul is not ours to buy or sell

Will yours come with eternal desolation?

You are no god in this life
Mourn for the worlds that you built
In your fantasies, forget the fallacies
You are not His usurper
A jaded caricature
His mercies you’d only
Discard from your hand

You are not His usurper
A jaded caricature
His mercies you’d only
Discard from your hand

Go

Kill your ego
Fall on your sword

Fall on your sword

Kill your ego
Kill your entitlement
You are no usurper
Show some contrition
Fall on your sword
Fall on your sword

You are no god in this life
Mourn for the worlds that you built
In your fantasies, forget the fallacies
You are not His usurper
A jaded caricature
His mercies you’d only
Discard from your hand

You are made in reflection


5. THROUGH TIRING EYES

Limited view
Through tiring eyes

In this, I know
I’m just a fraction

We, the mortal
Don’t see the whole

In our memories, we obscure it

Collective ideals, they
Are empty taskmasters
To manifest perfection
In aching, frail hands

In our memories, we obscure it


6. WAR OF ATTRITION

Spiritual warfare
Is a war of attrition
In search of purpose
We make appetites
Objectivity makes
Half-truth perspective
Self-righteousness
A bed of delusions

Self-importance
Is a slave driver
Entertainment makes
False purposes
Monetization
Calculated manipulator
Driven to weave in
Mankind’s desires

His promises are unchanged
Yet my body aches to flee
Regeneration, come swiftly
Sin grows on like a weed

Looking for a new fixation
By digging through graves
Nothing new under the sun
Self-indulgence a slaver
The comfort of death forever?


7. OUTERLUDE

Even death will die