Age of Excuse I
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A species had been armed with a double edged blade

A guardless weapon of delusion

Forged of a mirage of inherent transcendence

In the tangled mechanisms of life itself

As the curtain is being unraveled

The ego writhes in a spasm of insight

Delighted gods grunt like pigs

At the mere notion of a raison d'etre

From the gardens of Semiramis

To the trenches of Ypres

A meaningless uproar

Sublime truths are revealed

In the hammering of hobnailed jackboots

And there's wisdom to be found

In the shameful epitaphs of cowards

From the gardens of Semiramis

To the trenches of Ypres

From the grounds of Comitium

To the cellars of Tuol Sleng

From the spores of presence

And a swarm of pest

Unto the ironies of being

Falling hopes whip the ground

Among laments of sunken millennia

There are no paths to follow

But a nightmare of endless repetition

Those who peruse the annals of humanity

Demanding patterns, connections, developments:

Were there any to be found?

And was it sapience indeed that kept pushing this broken cart?

The wonders

The misery

The ascent

The emptiness

Falling hopes whip the ground

Among laments of sunken millennia

There are no paths to follow

But a nightmare of end

A species had been armed with a double edged blade

A guardless weapon of delusion

Forged of a mirage of inherent transcendence

In the tangled mechanisms of life itself

As the curtain is being unraveled

The ego writhes in a spasm of insight

Delighted gods grunt like pigs

At the mere notion of a raison d'etre

From the gardens of Semiramis

To the trenches of Ypres

A meaningless uproar

Sublime truths are revealed

In the hammering of hobnailed jackboots

And there's wisdom to be found

In the shameful epitaphs of cowards

From the gardens of Semiramis

To the trenches of Ypres

From the grounds of Comitium

To the cellars of Tuol Sleng

From the spores of presence

And a swarm of pest

Unto the ironies of being

Falling hopes whip the ground

Among laments of sunken millennia

There are no paths to follow

But a nightmare of endless repetition

Those who peruse the annals of humanity

Demanding patterns, connections, developments:

Were there any to be found?

And was it sapience indeed that kept pushing this broken cart?

The wonders

The misery

The ascent

The emptiness

Falling hopes whip the ground

Among laments of sunken millennia

There are no paths to follow

But a nightmare of end

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