This flesh holds me captive and in quest of liberation... As the sheep flock in the dissonance, I tread in dissent To the piercing light that sears our hearts; To the sickness that plagues our spirits... I cannot revere in this blind acceptance and falter in my comprehension Forfeit my injured soul, this affliction I respire! Heal this restless spirit – that bestowed naught Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate – I consign! Heal my heart, my weeping soul... I consign this putrid flesh Nothing here, nobody there... Erroneous illness shouting The outcry reviles this tattered soil... Drowning the world in filth and distortion Forfeit my injured soul, this affliction I respire! Heal this restless spirit – that bestowed naught Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate – I consign! Heal my heart, my weeping soul... I consign this putrid flesh I’ll leave my conscience to die A barrenness of dreams and anticipation; Life and hope shrivel into the void Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate – I consign! Heal my heart, my weeping soul... I consign this putrid flesh In this pantheon of sorrow We are everything, yet nothing! And as long we’re breathing The burden devoid of conclusion! Unaided I slither – ravaged, silent and alone I smoulder in anxious strife; I decline these exhausted remnants of decay The world is coming to an end; a vast ocean of disease... All hope is lost... or perhaps this is the cradle of salvation I must tranquil these turbulent waters No more expressions shall leave my trait... No further words shall be spoken This illness they conceived broke my tired wings