Raising from the Abyss

Darned flies disturbing his way
Seeking for the (yet called) freedom!
As he climb a(nother) pile of corpses
To consecrate…

Consecrate the self-titled grief
Somewhat stilled by reality
Oh, Nausea, the illness itself

As dismay took place
Raising, desecrating
He, the perverted one
His way, clean...
... yet to be tamed!

Aye! Man of thousand faces!
Another aeon, and your will
Shall be strong enough
To face this inner void
And survive the downfall

Darned flies puncturing his wounds
Those (empty) faces shall disappear!
As he’ll make his way through death
To celebrate!