Millenium کے بول

Time is cruel, it goes by slowly We are dying slowly in the sweet inactivity unworthy of death's attention - the only real otherness rubbing against the aspects of life leaving deathlike smell of millenium behind on skeletons of empty existence Pious crowd of twelve trumps, unsated of blood, deceived of prophet's lies, faithing vainly against time executes reverencing insane deeds to regain lost hours soaked in blood of time to glory of dead force. Trailers of unstraight thoughts leave for their immemorial hunts, go through the dreams don't know the limits of time. Millenium like warriors tread across the universe leaving persistent trace of passage and announcing arrival.