Time spent compounding knowledge from a foreign origin
“Be hold”, he chants
A figure of which she can’t see

Like a cold breeze on his forearms she looks anaesthetically into space
With drums beating in her chest,
She leaves his side desolate

Following the commands from a different plane
His reality unfolds layers stepping out of the truth
Dillusion saturates all that makes sense

His thoughts are overflowing with treasured momens left behind
He finds peace at the feet of his giant
All sense is lost