• With Mars in mind, that bloody moon,
    with eyes of maggots, we'll see you soon.
    Here. Wait. You can hear them calling.
    The mountains rise, rip from the earth,
    I call wrath upon this wicked curse,
    Here. Wait. You can hear them lulling, you.

    They are the ones whom hold the secret past,
    a cult of wisdom and a powerful wrath.
    But you cannot fear them. They only exist within another realm.
    In your sleep.

    In a throne of gold, Aries eyes of blaze,
    and call upon the end of days.
    Wait. Watch. You can see the blood shed.
    With a somber tone and a dying moan,
    the cult of old will steal his soul.
    Wait. Watch. The battle above your head.

    The oceans rage with a fury unknown,
    The great Poseidon holds a sceptor of gold.
    But you cannot see him. He only lives within the confines,
    Of your mind.

    Twisting and turning, this great complex,
    a beautiful massacre, a destructive mess.
    Wait. Feel. The wind rushes past.
    Now your eyes open and you bleed from your hands,
    but still you exist in a different land.
    Wait. Feel. Awake again at last.

    Was it a dream like this that makes us real?
    Or was our soul ever truly for Aries to steal?
    Or perhaps for Poseidon to rage and destroy.
    You are the pawn of God, a miniscule toy.

    Is it the dreams that make us real?