This is a cruel world, this you cannot reject.
    For I have lived one thousand lives, I have seen the infantile self enough.
    Yet it would please God none to grant me salvation.
    Still in earth, I have tasted the punishment of the forest of self destroyers.

I am the name of the God above, in me is the eternal forgiveness.
    Yet what cruel tricks I play on my self.
    For playing God is not in my nature.

----

From a cold sweat I wake from dreams of fear and wrath, to the darkness that embrace me.
To this, I hate.
From this discomforting bed I rise, in the consuming black around, forward to another path.
To this, I despise.
Nameless tears yearn to see the light of night, guided to the mirror that reveals my flesh.
To this, I cower.
Ripping flesh from bones, I dream of the day coming forth that would rid me of my corporeal being.
To this, my beloved self, I yearn.

----

What lies ahead? “Ruin.”
What ruin? “Ruin of your soul.”
What soul? “…”
Answer me. “…Sorry.”

The sins I committed are not my own.
This meat stuck upon my Self is not I.
What have I become?
In the wake of the beast.
Another victim to complete and utter destruction?

Complete and without hope and in the depth and before the door,
    I am.
In the inconceivable form of the flesh, through veins of blood and strains of nerves,
    I was.
Through and through without Self and with neither dreams nor ambitions,
    I shall be.
Yet ascension is the worse fate one could give to oneself.
    I.

----

I am the name of the eternal night, singing quietly under the glory of the moon.
    I am the name of the universe.
    I am the name of the dream you call living.
I am the love that permeates the air, in dissonance without any understanding of self.
    To permeate is not to be rid of identity.
    To permeate is not to be like everyone else.
I am the desire that desireth itself, the love that love loving.
    To desire is not to indulge.
    To desire is not to expunge.
I, to love loving yet not loving, in loving do I love loving loving, yet loving is not in my nature.
    To love is not lovingly giving.
    To love is not lovingly taking.

I am the name of the eternal night, the everlasting impression of you.
I am the name of the universe, the disquieting grandeur.
I am the name of the dream you call living, the dream of dreaming.
I am the name of the love of loving, the longing of connection.
I am the name of the existence of existing, the paradox of permanence.
I am the name of the hopeful reverie, the approaching daybreak.
I am the name of the perfect hatred, the emotion directed at the synthesis.
I am the name of the prison of flesh, the rememberer of the soul.

Carry on, ye who carry my name, and lose you of your fear.
    Say out the prayer of the final day.
And, at last, upon the souls of ye who yearn for freedom, let there be etched:
    Angel of Noire, the multitude of perspectives.

This is the dream we call living
    With the settings of a world of wonders and amazing creations,
    With the backdrop of a field of blooming sunflowers,
    With the scene of a million people trampling over them,
    With the plot of experiencing other people,
    With the ****** of that which we call “love,”
    With the fallout of our own lives, into nothingness.

This is the dream we call dreaming
    Let there be the settings of a world of canvas,
    Let there be the backdrop of the whiteness of an unborn soul,
    Let there be the scene of the singular person, existing and not existing,
    Let there be the plot of painting this canvas, stretching infinitely,
    Let there be the ****** of finding the other person, drawing and not drawing,
    Let there be the fallout of that which we call “love,” into totality.

This is the dream we call dreaming of dreaming
    See the settings of a kaleidoscope,
    See the backdrop of the abstraction of one’s soul,
    See the scene of the world, changing twice in one time,
    See the plot of the change, that which the world creates,
    See the ****** of finding the collapse of colors,
    See the fallout of the collapse of dreams.