Meshuggah — I
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Текст Meshuggah — I
I
I — this fractal illusion burning away all structure toward the obscene
I — to cleanse, to purge, to breach eternity and smother all life
Blind — these mortal men of clay, divine and dying in their harnessed form
I — this furnace of limitless hate. Bestial, pure
The pendulum swings semi-attached to the centre of all
I drug these minds into ruin and contempt — the acid smoke of burning souls
This is an anomaly. Disabled. What is true?
Not destined for incarceration. I crave my nothingness
This illness that they whisper of, is that what makes me fail?
I see through the eyes of the blind
Not clear what it is to be this self I dread, the immense, the rabid I am
The cogs turn, grinding away at ceaselessness — willing it to dust
Re-desintegration. Convulse. A dead universe — Impales this twilight
Fear aligns. Sadistic me. Meant to devour. Despair
Sickened by the fact that immortality is not mine to have
A snail along a straight razor — dividing itself through motion
I charge this feeble product of god
Laughing, drenched in the bile of millions
Chewing on the stinking flesh of the crown of creation
Solitude in splendor has been rivalled
Shrouds stained with tarblack vomit
Veiling the rotting eyes of the masses
The strain of armageddon evolves
Shifting through worlds from chaos, to chaos, to chaos
I devour this manure of existence — infertile, barren, whole
Rancid redeemer. Virulent deterioration of faith
Sacrilege in persona. In truth, fundamentally twisted
A witness to this savage carnage, a frenzy of animosity
The will to mutilate. Dominant deviation
The worship of the sick and degenerate will spread
I — the nihilist, not the lunatic
Ridding my godlike being of doubt
Obliterating all hope of escape
I — enter the echoes of despair
Miracles inverted by default, a reflex to devastate
Soaking in the will to violate, to castrate
Soiling the purpose of mankind. Deus ex machina on hold
The orgasmic, the splendid, the beginning of the end
Conception derived from misconceptions
The dimensionless features of truth
Silence in the core of undoing
Untie its knots and set it loose
The inertia of my existence is clear
Premutations of slaughtered worlds
I alone will behold the dying sky
A servant of eternity
Progress finally, emergence of doom complete
Here only to reverse the flow of life
I