In affirmation to our growth, we asphyxiate the reminiscent stagnants, of the old order.
Reborn as the destroyer, no paper scepters here, we march to the hammer-songs of 'testing', halting only for the dawn.
Amused I am at your decadent state, we have overcome our bongs and braved your most feared peaks.
I am the immoralist, I am the beauty, I am the immoralist, I am the perpetual being.
The heights of 'over' span boundless and unmanned save your brother, cast all aside to ascend.
Cloaked in Arete, effortless, breathing gold, himself arisen, the sun is your hand.
When all mountains lie conquered, as effigies unveiled, the congested stench of the prostrate leads you to reach for the blade.