Son of The Source, living a life without light or dark, bitter and naught
Almost none await you anymore.
Yet you strive through, thirsty for more than reality can give.
Little warrior god, streets of nothing pave your life
For the endless night has grasped you whole.
There is no escape, naught but cages wrought to hold gods.
Your own endless creation is laughing.
All is lost.
Yet you never fall, and you stand till your death.
But then light descends
And smiles are no more
Within an endless dream.
Son of The Source
Peace is a dying world.
Fires ignites your form
As you are imprisoned by naught.
Rain pours from a dying sky
Mountain-tops creak from the weight
This is your gloomy shroud
For Limbo awaits you once more.