An hourglass - Sands of probability

From the skies the hand of god rests his hand,
to test the drop upon the ocean of time,
turning the tides of man.
A chrushing beat rambles the hymn of what was created,
and alone in the lyrics now we can decipher the beast.
Together the people stands out to listen,
of troubling times, which turns the inards upon truth.
Ashamed of ourselves the cut goes deeper than any hope,
and artistic scramblings in blood are all that stands left.
Torn apart, our body floats in this wave that was meant for one,
turning thousandfold of us together in this ocean that counts ages.
Aegis of mankind is to break apart, to the drums of nature.
All but few stands to be - are already - Gone with the winds of change.

Freedom for us in soultorn eyes, which observes what only the blind man shared of his dreams
Freedom in this unknown dependence of masochistic malevolence.
Freedom that causes our mourning into infinity and beyond,
for we have proclaimed ourselves god in the world where chance should have a free roll.
Freedom is not here but was there and now we are bound by chaos.