Down comes the angel to exile
The beast and all its misgivings
Into the bottomless void of unending for a thousand years
Down she glides
With key in iron grasp
Clenched firmly within her palm
She unbinds topographical mounds
Unwinds the fabric of eons
And in a whirl of mushroomed atmospheres
Of dark matter and omnipresent cosmic dust
She expels the tricky reptillious purveyor of brooding consequences
To a darkness unrelenting
But the key is not a key, it is a scalpel,
The beast is not a dragon but merely a tumor
Sitting, thriving, an undulating wad
On the inner mind of mankind, freewill gone utterly awry
This could be our Armageddon
(chorus)
What we need is not a dogmatic explosion with angels
And flames, dragons and chalices, we need a complete metamorphosis
Of the consciousness of all mankind
For thousands of years we strolled around our cosmic hospice
While it throbbed deceitful punctures into the life paradigm
Clouding our judgment by placing ego-centrical metamorphosis
Before our existential manifestation receptors
Clogging our desires with delusions of grandeur
Addictions to endorphin rushes converting our attentions
Gonzo free radical thought cells exuding meticulous energy
Pummeling the free autonomy
With its incestuous offspring; hate, greed, lust, jealousy
Dispensed fervently in those last ominous pages
Is it more than a final grasp at our stolen immortality?
Thrust away the snake, step aside, take a number, repent, rejoice
Go to window number zero, pick up your wings
And your newly restored eternal being
Now here comes the doctor
And she looks ever so sweet with the blade in hand
We wait for the incision
But will it peak its benign head around the corner again in a thousand years?