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The Paradox

de At The Gates

Prodigious dreams, entangled and black
Coiled in the corners of life
Hallucinations, engraved in our bones
Futile, monotonous lives

The poison circle, eyes within eyes
How black our madness to be
Spectral salvation, unfurling itself
Through labyrinthian nights

To carry these dead notes
As we stare into the abyss
Our ruin, twisted and black
Into the starving void

Dehumanization of our art and culture
Parent of horrors to be
Mankind is nothing but self-conscious flesh
The triumph of our own deceit

The structures thеy now crumble
The fevеred liturgy
Black with the scars of madness
We hide within our crypts

Through mad winds of terror
Dreams are disturbed
In pulse after heaven-wide pulse
Older than darkness, colours unknown
Within the pit of death

Heroic dreams now trampled
By figures in rust-coloured robes
A region, illuminated
Into the nuclear dawn

The structures they now crumble
The fevered liturgy
Black with the scars of madness
We hide within our crypts

And as all hope turns to black
Into the dreamless night
As all hope turns to black
Of pessimism and paradox

No hope – all black
No hope – all black

And as all hope turns to black
Into the dreamless night
As all hope turns to black
Of pessimism and paradox

Of pessimism and paradox
Of pessimism and paradox

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