Ragnarok

Conflicting paths, an imperceptible continuum through the lens of the population
Unending, frozen fallacy I, the observer, the arbiter, the accuser, the author of quietus, have turned a gaze onto humankind
As the kirk bells deafen, and the sirens scream, their way of life warps my path to clemency
In time you shall realize ascension may only occur with the death of mankind in the palm of my hands
Frozen I must send my horde of flies and ticks across the valleys and up through the streets
To chip away at the tissue and cartilage of every survivor and wielder of swords
There is no war a display of unworthy combatants wither before me
It's not a choice the end draws near this is no war
A display of unworthy combatants wither before me
Without a choice, the end draws near
Sweep dust from my motionless hands collected, during cycles of lust
The only movement as of late digging into brimstone
Crying tears built upon broken trust
Ominous in nature potential alliances snap at the sight of these dying eyes
Writhe in silence shift my body in the dark I awaken into the void
Sprinting forward into its inviting mouth
Cover my wings in soil rip my carcass from the crust, home into the ether’s arms
The bell has rung
Echoing across the plains
Engulfing the space between realities
Bravery is futile, the mirror harkens back to the throne of persistent justice chewing through the barriers
To gorge upon the final remnants of absolution
In the wake ov Sòl, at the foot ov the cross, ethereal scrolls ov labyrinthine lore beckons wretchedness upon the gates
Reverberation of hope eclipsed
The maggots consuming the fresh glistening flesh
Unearthly warriors gnawing on the viscera, viciously chomping, and clawing away