The whole and the apex of things,
In a curvy lane of made up events,
Secretly cheating on self and relevant slaves,
Trusting an artificial flow of sands,
Inverting and unfolding the tone of the Caller,
Which efforts are not blessed by hope,
Born and bred into an automated mechanism,
No chance of waking up or defeating the incorrect,
Raised questions are easily filled,
An eternally examined organism at its knees,
Fainted chaos into unreality,
Flush the shape of the caged race,
Trapped by their weakness,
Trust, truth, the inborn curse.

Easily consumed thoughts,
Saving their squishy souls,
The machine is strict about understanding,
Abandoned resistance,
Shedding the inner anger,
In places non existent,
Increment an ability to gaze into black,
And create the ornament of passive violence,
I of the deleted and replaced,
Remembers the long gone,
An undisturbed cycle,
A timeline illusion,
Aching the pitiful containers of flesh,
And only he may know the name,
Of the Caller, of the stillborn savior.

He takes off the primal mask,
Destroys systematic bonds of slavery,
No more shallow needs,
No faked realities,
He's not burdened by meaningless humane tasks,
No leaping between humorous deeds,
First steps in deserted streets,
Mankind is still in its sleep,
Dream by dream their essence is taken away,
Cold glances at the plastic air,
Cellophane shutters and blurry thoughts all around,
No more disturbed by them he straightens his path,
No more fulfilling inhales,
And nothingness adds no taste,
Free of time and shrinking space,
Mind in its order,
And no more fear as illusions are aside,
Slaves and no gods but parasites,
Taking away not an atom from him,
He is a passing hollow,
With terminated feelings,
But all sense the power and presence,
No unnecessary words,
Obstructions all are now destroyed.