You are picking crops of the acts  Acted and no existed  Tunnels to infinity  Gloomy, cold and wet  Are Gaping like beast's muzzle  A lots of gates are open  On the edges of mind and dreams  Lack of time is your the worst nightmare  Feelings against instincts  Slowly dying with resistance  Where your bodies rascals  Are going for a butcher  Pie after pie, for pieces  Step by step to the edge  Scattered in the abyss, lonely  Your fate-your choice  Rapid stream of time is a transformation  Against you and for you  Whispers-answer for unknown  Naked triviality of life  Shroud of darkness surrounding the souls  "Dreams those small pieces of death  How I hate you"