The feeling as if cold, jagged steel was carving your flesh 
The knowledge of order, chaos and all in between 
The awareness of a cold world in which no one breathes 
And with yearn 

The loneliness of a universe of unlimited creatures 
The undiscriminating hate, the curse of being a god 
The melancholy of ghosts haunting wherever we go 
We are their castles 

The phantoms of other times finding it's ways through the mist 
The useless excellence of a world without soul, without hope 
The violent, ghastly storms of rage 
And the silence thereafter