Know us not well the birth of flesh,
yet born in blood and do we contain.
To live our lives without the stars,
we lose all sight of what we shape.
No man of us would dare move lip,
to say we contrive his Master.
The Forgotten King will hold his throne,
by way of faceless fear.
Move us our hands of faith in flames,
for we will judge this not.
Reverence is our tarnished key
to His door of doorless rooms.
The infinite Circle carries on,
as if the sun could catch a shadow.
Forged are we from futility,
and shape in our name we shall.
We forget what we cannot...
we remember what we lost...
from our birth to our day of days,
this feeling will never pass.
Important are we to the unseen,
and to that we shall return.
Hark: time has no limits,
but knows well yours.
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