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(The Apocryfal Wisdom Of An Allegorical Apocalypse)

The prophet:	Many martyrs have fallen
	since I passed this way...

The truth:	Many skies have bled.

The profet:	Many gods did returns, many players
	lost their aim many loves have felt.

The truth:	Many sons were born.

The prophet:	I wonder if the children will 	forgive...

When the light dies through infinite darkness
and the children start to cry;
when a scream turns a whisper
when the ages bleed alive...
Reality becomes illusion
illusion is reality;
is this the alliance for the ancient
of the new birth of a profecy?
Unnatural beings, morbid existence
resuscutated horror, ambigious visions
see the apocalypse - rise...
We were
banned by the fire, in the grip of the ceremony.
We saw
types in our hearts, we denied every life we could give.
And
infinity grasped out for slaves, day by day - year for year.
Why
that prophet spoke to the abyss below him:
"Have we ever been free?"
And behind the shade sleeps an apocryphal wisdom
in the hour of twilight
in this legendary times...
Unnatural beings, morbid existence
resuscitated horror, ambigious visions
see the apocalypse - rise...
Now that the breath has gone
the fire claim its might;
now that in this dark millenium
no master is alive.
Now that a castle atends
between the ruins of the past;
now that the omens wither away,
no hope will ever last.

The prophet:

I wonder if the children will forgive...

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