Clucthed at the catastrophe I choose to not resist. In a familiar sense of condemnation, They're all yearning for the light above, I choose to not believe. Retracing the path I walked, I choose to not proceed. Procession for the shapeless will, Myriads forms creeping in orderly columns Towards their tearing bliss. Tattered, their flag stands still Resounds the echo of infinite autumns I choose to not accept this. One soul trapped in the spiral Drags the others to the chasm. History repeats, In looking for another heaven, In looking for another peace.