Black Moon rising, but is more about darkness. A shadow of a game, as a predator.
Can you smell the ashes?
Of course not, after all, you are made of gold,
Silent fabrics who engage in sexual desire
Paradigms dead as the old Egypt.
Ra from the river, rising once more.
Can you hear?
Is war. Again.
But Horus has its sword already, and you cannot count with a horde today.
Imagine a mexican stand-off with one hundred people.
Everyone want so desperate, to preserve the rose of the dream,
but erect venezuelan black ops penetrate the stadium with missile launchers,
the bastard cannot even restraint themselves. At least load a fucking 9mm with supressors in the suit.
I'm not even jabbering about it.
El tiempo es solo una percepción, así que todo ya pasó.