The great truth is there isn't one
And it only gets worse since that conclusion
The irony of being an extension to nothing
And the force of inertia is now a vital factor

And there is despair underneath each and every action
Each and every attempt to pierce the armour of numbness
Burning bridges becomes a habit to support
And the front line expands like there's no tomorrow

I envy the maggots
Their stuff at least sticks together
Better than laudations of misinformed seers
And those are lengthy annals of shame that we work with

It's like dumping dead meat at the brink of Styx
With a barge that we made of what was left of Yggdrasil
After veterans of spiritual revolts were done with their armchairs
And I don't even remember which brink is which

The odour of sanctity is just refined stench of existence
Shining pearl of Augeas' crown pales in comparison

And there is despair underneath each and every action
Each and every attempt to pierce the armour of numbness
Burning bridges becomes a habit to support
And the front line expands like there's no tomorrow

The grotesque eagles of misfortune, well fed on thanatos, sit still
It's the dignity of scavengers at the ever growing garbage dump of life

There is something about the rigid posture of a proper, authentic blind
As if extended arms reached to pass his blindness onto others

There is a style in total denial
A certain elegance of fear
Hesychasm is so much convenient
With the desert within ourselves

Stray dogs lead disciples of Oedipus
As the shrouds gently cover
Exquisite paroxysms of ruin
And well mannered choking on nothingness

Nether

The cracks in soma, psyche and pneuma
Are as one way mirrors
It's one well lit desert
And the pyres extend beyond the horizon
And cold flames flicker upon ashes of hope

Through hallways carved in a crystal
On to the uttermost parts of the pit
Jostling through cadavers of former selves
You would swear there's amusement in the eyes of the dead

Again, nether

A reward for the perseverant:
Unceasing howling of the heart
Bound to walk this path
Nether, again, nether - now and forever

I wish it was classic fire and brimstone
But clearly there is a very special plan
Paved with havoc and shattered virtues
As if there were any other paths

With every dream
The pyres grow taller
An enemy of trust
A misled scholar
Stray philanthrope
In vain endeavor
Walk this path
Now and forever

We hold an honorary degree in natural science
For stratigraphy of rock bottom
The layers were aplenty, as above, so below
But mostly below

The research is vast, thorough and firsthand
And it's a broad array of sources

For the complete guide to spiritual asshole of the world

A tour in words, sounds and pictures
Of the true south of nadir

Through burial grounds for broken dreams and crippled souls
The graves are shallow
We would dig them up with our bare hands
Just to rise above for a split second
And see them basked in the light of a dead sun
Beneath the sky of shit
And then take notes
Meticulously

We would consume deathbed confessions
Create a language of fading words

For this night is without end

We would compute dynamics of grief
And logic of venom, and we would listen
As history is written on cold skin of prophets
With vulture claws soaked in rat saliva

For this night is without end

Some are born without a purpose
Other than prolonged demise in ornate ways
Most of the time it's pathetic, quick and useless
And good neighbours don't bother digging up the graves

It's rows upon rows of kings, whores and pawns
And the storm is rolling
The vengeful and the bitter reach out for their fix
Rebels never realized that their angst was a mockery

Every empire
Every nation
Every tribe
Thought it would end
In a bit more decent way

It is an unlikely alliance of assorted failures
Various degrees of deceit, doomsday prophets
The clenched teeth, the vinegar down the veins
A stylish pit right next to Judas, Brutus and Cassius

Every empire
Every nation
Every tribe
Thought it would end
In a bit more decent way

Every prophet
Every ruler
Every seer
Will chew on this ruin
And repeat ad nauseam

Blessed be the tailors
The masks are cut to fit

Blessed be the woodworkers
The crosses and the gallows

Blessed be the forgers of iron
And the spikes and the barbwire

Blessed be the stone cutters
It took a quarry to bury the dreams

Blessed be the misery, the filth, the discord and the horror
Blessed be the lies, the guilt, the fear, the woe and the betrayal
For these ones didn't need any outside source
For these ones come from within

And here it is
Grown from within
An invincible stronghold
Adorned with death

A suit of shining armour
Replaced the skin
And calligraphed sins
Are as coat of arms

Hollow

As if you didn't know how it feels to lose
As if you didn't know how it feels to lose at dice with fate

At least have some dignity

As if it wasn't a lifetime spent on connecting the dots
There was no pattern
As if the irony was more than a defense mechanism
And we could actually laugh for a change
As if steel hooks in our backs were more than a nuisance
And we could actually feel something

Self crucified - missed the right tree
Tore the wrong eye out
The hissing of hellfire
Self crucified - missed the right tree
For this I have gained a victory
I burn as I ought to

As if everything was to be made right one day
Dreams don't come true for people like us
As if the gods were bored with peace in our hearts
And their fingers are itchy
As if we never broke people out of sheer boredom
And slept calmly among the wastes

And then we see bright and clear

As if we would be someone else
While mindlessly wandering through the mountains
As if we would be someone better
Expelling purgatory in Latin alphabet

Self crucified - missed the right tree
Tore the wrong eye out
The hissing of hellfire
Self crucified - missed the right tree
For this I have gained a victory
I burn as I ought to

As if all this was something more
Than another footnote on a postcard from nowhere
Another chapter in the handbook for exercises in futility