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