"One does not become enlightened by Imagining figures of light, But by making the darkness conscious." On the golden throne of skulls In the glass house of our dreams Sits the one who rules it all Oblivious, denied, forgotten Self-appointed king Hollow gaze of his tired eyes Focused, on the mirrors on the walls Drowning in reflections' endless maze Restless, always searching for the I Through the dusty libraries Of ancestral wisdom Through the riddles Of suspected thruths Diving Into the black and back again With hope there is no hope Into the light to see there is none No concession Not a single spark to be found "Who looks outside, dreams; Who looks inside, awakes." Let him cry out loud in despair Let him dance to his own requiem Let the bow slit his wrists As the violin weeps Misguided by the ego's treacherous call Lost in the labyrinth of countless reveals Rebutting themselves one after another Disguided as promises of enlightenment All I saw was nothing but madness All we shall see is nothing but darkness All we shall leave is nothing but failures All we shall gain is nothing but faceless For no ocean of stars awaits Nor the womb of newborn possibilities But the shattering mirror itself Obscure void of misguided thoughts When darkness is conscious All horrors end No figures of light When mirrors shatter