We are derelict isomers of forgotten human death.
Stones rolling down Prometheus backs.

Gathering all that kills,

Ghosts' of mans greatness stuck in the gills of the fish of time.
In the ocean of disfigured human atrophy,
Of the fire of soul.

A treason to all.
We will never accumulate the meaning.

We will just continue seething,
The will of our existence.
We will give it to anyone who ask,
But ourselves.

Man is the hero.