---

Standing here, in a world of reflection.
Can't figure out what is real anymore.
A ghostly man in white appears before me,
with an outstretched arm to offer his hand.
He's saying:

Can you feel the heartbeat of the new-born?
A point in space, the genesis of everything, a place where
Time is trapped in thought.
Condemned to witness the birth of our home.

Now we're back, mundane world and worthless choices.
The fruit incites your appetite, so return outside and take a bite.
Astoundingly bright, this cauldron of light,
eternally burning with fury and might.
I'm rigid with fright. This humbling sight,
it calls into question the role of Jesus fucking Christ.

The sceptic's decree, a new guarantee,
it states there's no room for the spirit of three.
In making this plea, like ploughing the sea,
I'm fighting a battle I know will never go my way
In a hope to keep these thoughts at bay.
And get a feeling in my heart that it is not okay.
Slowly accepting the journey is over and this is my judgement day.

A door, blocking my path, set in a wall glass.
Pushed hard as I could, but wouldn't let me past.
Recall the wonders of this small infinity.
It spawned itself, won't answer to divinity.
If nature has no pastor, reality no master,
could it be I've fooled myself.

The door it opens. The spell is broken.
The past is splinters, but the truth still lingers.
And now I am decided. My faith has been misguided.
No spirit of god, no dazzling facade, could make me venerate his name again.

Time is trapped in thought
Condemned to witness the birth of our home (x2)

Now you see we march without his guidance.
Completely free, our legacy we alone we create, the will of man.

---

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