Fall of the Titans
Cyclopean walls crack, sun hangs over dead earth. No tears, no laughter, just the metallic ghost of machines.
Dust veils the sky, horizons collapse, poles trade places. Ruins remain — dreams turned to stone.
Books to ash, towers to soil, survivors whisper of a Golden Age. The sun once burned, now frozen. Seconds stretch into centuries. Frame locked, image waiting. I’ll crank the gears of heaven, Phoenix rising in golden ink, an obelisk guards the garden.
The Rebuilder
Twenty‑six thousand years, visions tearing the world apart. Cycles at dawn, alone at dusk.
Counting stars, measuring earth, light for tribes unborn. I built Orion’s belt, the Mother rests.
Eons forward, eons back, dust swallows me whole. The wheel turns — beginning is end, end is beginning. Sun rises where it fell, sets where it rose. I saw Orion’s birth and death, while generations vanished.
June
Peace wakes the sun, iron arms tighten. Silicon shelter, I’m wandering.
They say you’re far from reality, but you’re close to eternity — infinity.
Seas rise, seas close, wax dove sings its last opera. Infinity.
Wake your mind, wake your soul, wake your heart. Let it flow through your veins — you’re not insane.
Cold Blade
Different since the cradle, blood in my eyes. Life lived a million times, every moment a wound.
Knife since seven, mission since forever: cut the world open, slice the cries at dawn.
Cold blade, my friend, pressed against my heart. I’m good at the core, time’s the killer.
Empty streets scream, world frozen, I scream back. Gray filth, I don’t belong. The world made me, so I carve it back.
Cold blade, my friend, pressed against my heart. I’m good at the core, why call me murderer?
Big Money
Big money spins the world, big money pulls the strings. God in a suit, dreams in its grip.
It knows what we need, knows how to trick us. True dreams replaced by its shadow.
Stock exchange of illusion, faces behind blinds. Plastic flowers in big offices, we all crave the same.
Green style, cheap trick, eternal plan. Not man, but money decides. Proud towers, money makes us suffer.
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