The hubris of Man, to think we matter,
that our acts or life have any worth
I proclaim it rotten like so much mirth
The poor get poorer, the rats grow fatter
so spread not your lies, for I know better
The Void left our values a still-birth
We're cells further growing this cancer's girth
climbing higher on a failing ladder

Thus let us burn, we don't deserve a knife
let roam the terrors I dream of nightly,
open Pandora's box now, loosen its clasp
Let the End come now, there's no after-life
it'd change nothing, most just stare on blankly
And talk not of Love, it's out of my grasp

He gathers tales, sings them for a pittance
Holds peasants spellbound on the brink of fright
With weird myths that bewilder, if one might
See their meaning past the poet's flagrance
But all are in awe of his strange presence
And lend their ears until it is midnight
And the stars start to shine cold, distant, bright
With an ancient sentience, in silence

Come dawn and he leaves, do not dare follow
For this man treads where no mortal can go
To the stars that sired him, he unveils
A vista of a repugnant hollow
Where above all, you hear their great bellow
It is here the Old Ones tell him their tales