Kœlakånt (Für Niemanden)

A disappearance An incoherent, twisted Notion of hope And perseverance Yet no parents Quickly apparent, misled A thousand skins he’s shed Still like a watch he wears it In the wintertime This watch could be in splinters fine And still shine brighter Than this miserable pantomime But time is pernicious It wishes only the worst You are not the first nor the last To ask if it’s all fictitious Some factitious conspiracy Perhaps of these devils you fear So unconditionally As punishment for our self-sufficiency And dissatisfaction Mercilessly suffocated by our actions Excavating sight from our own vacant eyes Still our feet can gain no traction Still we feel we’re making progress We’re just faking due with what we have now And that which never came to pass Following in the paths of the witches The ones we sent up in flaming pieces To make peace with the sky we blackened Trying in vain to take it all back By extirpating the innocent Feigning innocence at least Releasing our own sins into the inanimate air Crushing ourselves with the heretics Is imperative to our survival And the revival of the fittest Resurrection of the idle I will ensure We all get what we deserve When it’s over And over, all over again Pens down