And so the words would go together well - in silent age as no-one dares to look the other way - or turn the page a spark emerges the silence and claims - to be I surely know from where its spirit came - and laugh about the awful boldness trying to surprise - my naked mind No-one knows how deeply we fell inside this well - where the rotten pieces of the mirror once reflected all the world - forever lay Torn the curtain - scattered by the winds - the fake ideals collected by the artist for his final tune - or silent rage intend to web his ultimate cocoon and spin the moon - from May to June And so the story begins to drift apart from our intended creation nothing but the spark in the empty room is retaining original order yes it's real - the hearty gestures - all the gold of mind won't turn the scull right Only the eye of the observer is reflecting the sparkling illusion All at once the images turning by and the weak testifying confusion and it's real - the hearty gestures - all the gold of mind won't turn the scull right And again there's a pa**ing of memories - out of tune in a flashback of broken dreams every part is repelling the other ones and the heart is still raging in silence And so the rise of the aftermath is distorting the chain of causation and so the spirit relentlessly is exposed to external intervention yes its real - the growing pain - the fading strength reveals the heel of weakness And again there's a pa**ing of memories out of turn in a flashback of broken dreams every part is repelling the other ones and the heart is still raging in silence Dipped into the specific aura of the floating individual unable to resist the injections squeezed into it penetrating propagating the illusion of a reality and transform the needness of virginal velvet skin into a scarface pouring out the infected blood of memories that fall consigned to the gutter of oblivion Vanished inside of minds asylum condemned forever to self fertilization or by chance s**ed off by half a million mouths of pa**ion eagerly plunge into their delicious cup of venom copulating with the germs of the mental sauce injected to form a ba*tard - a divine - stepping out to convert all the unbelievers - or to burn Fitted out with the divine right - he is there shining brightly into night like a crusader he swears to convert all the unbelievers in case of doubt with an iron fist - burning all on the inquisitors list and from the mud of the gutter form evil creatures with burning sharpness only excelled by their random nature - swarming out for to conquer the pure and the earth and the stars resemble - in endless convulsions tremble And as an endless chain of sparks radiate - the earth emits its mental ma**es Into the blackest night of naught they transmit - where hope and chance will accidentally meet where all time will be borne - just wait one moment more - in silent age - we're torn