Rush faster on the one-way lane

the answers so silent



Rusty gods in their machine-minds armours

grind our souls in the millstone of time

the "deathbed harvest" is dead man's banquet

of mould ridden bread and black, poisoned wine



And we go..our steps so silent

And we go..our blooded trace;

The Jester Race



Calling our to the gathered masses;

their answers so silent



And we go..



Embracing the tools of the neo-wolf age

that speak of silence and silence alone



Offering the tokens, the reliced idols

to the heirs of the newly raped ground

inferior even to the transparent winds

lesser in motion and sound



And we go..



There is no trace of me

in their altered blueprints of life



Gaia impaled on their horns and lances

to fumes from her body give case

as the throng of blind mind savour the scent,

dream-dead from prosaic and hate



Sunwind strokes the electroheart,

ignition roars through the corridors,

stream launching the binary vessels



Vanities in extreme formations

ride into tormorrow's rigid futile scripts

of our dying jester race