Opposite Sides - A Grinded Position of Pray

Fake constructions in a human shape. Fragmented contradictions in a golden frame. The process of soul’s mutilation, in trying to solve the horizon riddle. For the sense of view is lost as we lost the sense of reason. When spirit flies I hear a graceful song (I don’t mind the shades, I’m living lying), I tend to forget my human nature’s host (I forget the shades, I’m living lying). Open humiliations in the shape of faith. Grinded situations in the pose of pray. The rituals of annihilation, in worshipping the so called holy figure. For our soul-worth is gone as we lost our only treasure. When spirit flies I hear a graceful song (I don’t mind the shades, I’m living lying), I tend to forget my human nature’s host (I forget the shades, I’m living lying). Grinding we are damaged, grinding we are smashed. Grinding we are shattered, grinding we’re destroyed. All the time we’ve lost our will, pretending we’re in time. All the lies we swallowed, now, are not even worth a crime. In free-fall we are alone and lost and all feelings are erased. We hold on to what is left but we slowly lose our shape. I fall into you, you fall into me, we try to stay embraced. But we melt into the void and the chasm is our only fate. Ruins of devastations in our ghostly fields. Spiritual revelations are about to yield. The spiral of damnation is spinning in vortexes of abandon, as we suffer our condition, just by praying an angry dog.