Here we rule, a throne of backmasked intelligence,
Destroying me for every facet of light it does give,
Bondage to philosophy so right and yet forgotten,
Wasted elegance, won’t die but also cannot live.
As we creep along with this created concept of time,
Clinging to our blankets of safety and expected haste,
Realizing we have arrived here from our nightmares,
A foul sour wine, for this my palette of dreams I waste.