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letra de open graves - letter to the exiles

now we are slaves to our own history,
new architects of divine treachery.
when it’s over what becomes of you and i?
the b-st-rd sons of a gentile line.
there are open graves, desecration our human hands have
made.
i am throwing myself to the abyss, and the ashes prove
the flame.
this is what i know of faith.
i offer this, some compensation for consequence.
i test my method, some expression of my repentance.
now to the architect, construct of imagination,
i leave his body as my free-will’s evidence of a failed
design.
i am throwing myself to the jackals.
what becomes of you and i?
the b-st-rd sons of a gentile line.
we’re not the hollow vessels,
we’re not forgotten slaves.
we’re not an abstract concept.
we are not open graves.
now watch it burn to the ground.
watch as i will tear it down.
i will break this earth, i will watch it burn.
this is offered to you:
can you hear the sound of truth, it’s calling out to you.
i have one truth, given to me and offered to you.
what is dead will rise again.

- letter to the exiles

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