the jester race

• rush faster on the one-way lane
  the answers so silent
  
  rusty gods in their machine-minds armours
  grind our souls in the millstone of time
  the "deathbed harvest" is dead man's banquet
  of mould ridden bread and black, poisoned wine
  
  and we go..our steps so silent
  and we go..our blooded trace;
  the jester race
  
  calling our to the gathered masses;
  their answers so silent
  
  and we go..
  
  embracing the tools of the neo-wolf age
  that speak of silence and silence alone
  
  offering the tokens, the reliced idols
  to the heirs of the newly raped ground
  inferior even to the transparent winds
  lesser in motion and sound
  
  and we go..
  
  there is no trace of me
  in their altered blueprints of life
  
  gaia impaled on their horns and lances
  to fumes from her body give case
  as the throng of blind mind savour the scent,
  dream-dead from prosaic and hate
  
  sunwind strokes the electroheart,
  ignition roars through the corridors,
  stream launching the binary vessels
  
  vanities in extreme formations
  ride into tormorrow's rigid futile scripts
  of our dying jester race