1. Into The Autumnsphere

(intro)

2. Deference, Diminuend

Hellfire burns. This I can well feel. Before long, all sense will be lost to distances afar.
I have been a witness to the collapse of all respect.
Without the wit or will the humour of all this torment lies entirely,
without exception, in the pitiful sarcastic voids it itself holds within.
Laughter. And never it has been mine in these moments that I am held captive to.
Withering is the correct attribute to describe my realities.
Sadness can, at its utmost state, lead to what I am at the shades of blackened lights. Immolation.
Massacra I could come out of this irrelevancy.
Nonsense, so much nonsense but never, and hear: never!
Never it is that to me. Let me fall.
Regrettably my obituaries can reach the starlit Ferniaahs,
where-ever they may lurk at whichever time and space.
I cannot but consider vomiting – sensing the fierce reek of the lack of wisdom you exhibit.
Calm down, light the candles and consider taking leave.

3. Platinum

Delight the finest hour.
Pain will overcome.
The times to come and pass.
With death in heart.
Death in heart.
Will you, when the time comes, part?
A reflection of my fears.
Departure.
Despite this, adore the beauty in red.
Consider now, where to find the soul of a colour?
To help you in the task: ever-on it floweth and as hindered to cease, all will
Nebian hero I am.
Curse, fury, all I have, all I need to take it all.
From me, in Vainia.
Lest I ponder, in pain to fall?
LIAR! I AM THE LOWEST.
I saw the foliage some three times.
No questions arose.
Everything was clear...a crystal.
NOBILITY. THE GOLDEN ANSWER.

4. I Feathe To The Juniper

A bench, painted white years ago,
if I can trust these bytes...
still lies on the very same bridge it did then.
Sitting on it, I came to wonder at the course of everything.
The task itself that overcame me.
I can just wonder the hilarious jokes of this tech-world.

5. Machina Mimesis (In The Corner Cafe)

Nothing less than the sound of footsteps condensing into a shape.
Sneaking into the murky urban caf of crispy mornings.
Realized it was a mirror after hours of work. They are filth.
And also easily lost in the labyrinth of the theory of their own art – this easily percepted.
Within the 4 years of rain it became my own microscopic Macondo.
It all meant little, if nothing
What is the frase I look for... Chaotic Dementh.
Ah yes indeed. Been there before, fair lady?
A Copper medal I won at the chill-kill that day: Putrid Run, Salt... Torment, Thirst.
Two fierce feasting parties wishing me warmly welcome in the aftermath of their own cold war.
Neo-colonialistic freaks, says I.
Tempers increase to hatred and vanish – in cataleptic disorders.
An apparatus of something, don t really know what, remnant of the good that succumbed in man once?
The absolute legion of oddity.
Now guess what in the world machina mimesis is?

6. Lectured By The Demons Of Dreams

Come!
All of you bastards!
And hear me: No-one may become a dream.
Witness my scars.
Scars of a lesson...scars of the out-of-hand fantasia!
Lay your eyes upon me.
Phantast in ruins!
None may become a dream...
No-one.

7. Wonder Clouds Rain

A Stargazer.
In the dim shades, sense erotic angels or devils (or whatever they may be( circling you.
Aura? What fool am I?
I do not need guidance to find my way to my dear friend: Temptation.
Self-Infection. Has a deadly hold of me. Melancholy.
Alike the latter. A lone knight of my own wooden, round table.
What pleasures do misery and chaos hold inside!
Tiny, little rebellious creature is a fierce enemy now.
Worry not.
I wore a revenue of faith in us and all of a sudden it proved to be my passage to the sickest of love and lore.
Thus: Morals have weakened to bits, eyes casted towards the whore Oh perils, what Eldorado before me!
Heave myself into ebony.
Once I finish the revolution of doubt – allow me then to hate the air and wish
for those clouds with LATEX linings to RAIN all my hell.

8. Effloresce Black & White

As you know, and I know that you are not the imbecile people you consider,
mister, there are moments where something of relevance is lost.
Lost in a permanent fashion.
The fashion of the damned. Put aside cognitive war and slow death,
then the latter is perhaps the best way of spiritual cleansing. Purity.
Allow me to enjoy the sweetness of the utterance.
Just for a second, for a minute, an eternity for me.
Now consider this: lose purity.
All of it. Any honour left in you?
Had merely a black & white image of it left when I burnt it.
Faith, death and the ill day-dreams....flames are my victory in urbanum infernia.
And hence believe I have to set the photographs afire.
The daunting black...was it the sixth moon of sadness for him?
Pale-white, smiling, commenting bluntly, understanding a crippled heard despite all hardships.
Never really seen a rainbow that putrid but does that darned make my beloved red any worse?
Cursed day dreams. May is gone.

9. In Morning Mood A Utopia-Revelation

Some autumn morning. Some drops of water to reach the earth.
And there was I. Enraptured, bewildered evermore.
Shattered utterances that never caught ears.
At tedious lenght utopias grow – still.
And for-ever acquiring forms not of health, as spoken absence horrentia.
Tumors my corruption take heed hasten away as you wish.
Let me hallucinate.
All madness centered – to this utopia, this mortal magnificence.
Could nothing but rejoice the
Fall together with the voices and shades it brings us.
The winds wept thunder and the rain caressed me, cried velvet tears.
A thought arise, a world collapse. SIMPLE as that.

10. Black Picture, August

(outro)