The Silent City

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Patrons of the Rotting Gate

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I hear no song in this silent city, The hymnal lullaby of antiquity now faded echoes of a dying angel shackled and gagged; silenced by a deafening roar of arrogance 
The anthem of the serpent's tongue deconsecrating light
This land is the death of love, a graffitied labyrinth of smog that lines our lungs with every second-hand breath, Stymied inhalation, ethereal degeneration
The wretching wise speaking in alien tongues, A vomitous lexicon of spiritual decline

Sterile signals from a satellite, the pulsating chorus of atonality; encoded passages of deterioration, An unholy communion, the cleric's doctrine disgorged in binary; a funereal tome that inspires a longing for the grave

The light at the end of the crooked path, tranquility in the tomb; the silence in death
I saw a mirage! A beacon in the fog, an angel wrapped in rays of light, a revelation! Offering refuge for surrender; a golden collar, Singing a sadist's song, dulcet tones of servitude

Bring me back there, give me light, take my eyes so I can see
Sing to me the sweetest song, a lullaby of subjugation

Weaned from the altar by the authors of tenebrosity, larcenists of serenity; disfiguring the blank face of the spirit That brought me some semblance of meaning
Engulf me in saccharine rain, adorn my body with a golden halo
Purge my eyes of what I've seen; twin pillars of white wrapped in two snakes, a creaking staircase into the soil

Bring me some semblance of meaning
Drown me in saccharine rain
Adorn my corpse with a golden halo

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