Through dust of ages, burned into ashes of the seer
The voice of an ancient echo travels across the astral plane
Before the mark of time, before the origin of life
What was and what shall be again meet at the crossroad of the divine

Washed in anguish, cloaked in shadowed ancestry
We stand in duality and await the arrival of the triad

Infinity arrived before us on a steed of morbid decay
And cast down on our plight, a looming desecration
He is the third, the triumvirate, his journey ends here
In our temple of atavistic separation

His mare of centuries bows and falls from its bones
Into a pile of dry flesh, scoria and sinew
We are but heretics watching from the edge of the ruins
Our maligned veil enshrouds the world below

Through the corridors tide, before the light revealed our silent woe
A pleasant stillness that suffering could only reward
We drag the gods behind us, they perished grasping our cloaks
The serpent's venom spat upon and joined the ranks of the fallen steed

We are but travelers in a lost aeon
A new dark age of malice and divinity