My dogma, a trait of this war Leads to an endless oblivion I can't see beyond this fixation As it gouged my eyes out I'll fall But never hit the ground Abolishing gazes surround me For I am not atoned Pranayma, now help me breathe Gasp the last bites of air from this cellar My lungs constricted by anticipation As I prepare to enter the other side I'll fall But never hit the ground Constellations disappeared through suffocation Air vanished through the hole Left to rot eternally in dimensions beyond unreal Hell is around the corner and already here This is the autobiography of a murderer