Palpitation - The Tyrants' imagination
Tremors in the soil
Burnt miasma

I sense the twisting of the edge
The solid polymorphing

I sense the twisting of this age
The essential toxin

Have we come to this point where changes are not made but forced
We face the change of tides of time
While they walk in the currents

We great the void for the fiery sun and our own

Have we ever realised, befor eour own eyes
Those tremors in the earth
- The echoes of earthen lies
- Are those fires that light and heat our cries

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