There were a thousand lies on each side.
No one —
Won the war
Turned out to be right
Gained the spoils.
There was no trophy given.
The soul whispers for Desolation
and he comes when called.
It starts as one Want above all
in a fresh grass field
populated by children, flowers, butterflies and
becomes darkness and fire
becomes burning and ice
becomes a ravaged field.
Only space, emptiness, openness remains
after Desolation does his job.
When the lies have spoken their spark
When the fires have burned their burning
When the rain has gone away, the river receded
When the sun drops from the sky
When fear drives the chariot of victory
And his kingdom reigns supreme in your mind
When mercy closes her eyes and her voice grows faint
When the storm is unceasing and the flames of
Self-devouring grow higher than flight