The feeling as if cold, jagged steel was carving your flesh The knowledge of order, chaos and all in between The awareness of a cold world in which no one breathes And with yearn The loneliness of a universe of unlimited creatures The undiscriminating hate, the curse of being a god The melancholy of ghosts haunting wherever we go We are their castles The phantoms of other times finding it's ways through the mist The useless excellence of a world without soul, without hope The violent, ghastly storms of rage And the silence thereafter