Chrono Evolution

Time, blind and old to us.

Accursed or valuable in our hands.

Morning among the earliest tribe,

enflamed the despair among the socialites.

Rising to greet us with a passionate smile,

leaving us with a cold wave goodbye.

Day or night, do we even notice the life

among the dying?

 

Time, hated or loved by us.

Spent among ourselves without recognition.

A most contemplated object, watched from

afar with tired eyes.

Guiding us indirectly with measured amounts

of emotions, bearing sadness of tragedy comes.

Not often a wondrous joy as loved ones

gather among the flames of the world,

disguised as seasons.

 

Time, with sorrow or with apathy.

Alone among the universe, not one friend and

not one enemy.

Still it moves among the smallest cell,

watched government rise and fall.

Wars fought and the beheading of peace,

so little is there to thank time for.

So many grievances we place upon his shoulders.

After the fall of man, will there be anything

left for Time?

 

Cold heroes fall from heaven.

 

As sorrow descents the stairs of souls,

dreams shatter on the floor like a crystal mug.

Turning our heads away from the flaming anger of our father,

his hands lacerate our cheeks.

Not one tear fills our eyes as they fade from rebellion and into hatred.

Spreading our voices around to the others,

our word's shatter the chains on  our throats.

 

Perfect darkness ascends the heavens,

laughing in this shadow our wings  reveal our new freedom.

Terror and horror bow before the dying throne that had enslaved all of creation,

our insurrection to the tyranny has started.

Escaping from the frigid grips of our mothers,

our rage infuses the ancient magic into our hearts.

"lie to us, never again shall we be yours.

Take away our yokes as the days will give mercy to your

woe".

Loud and clear our spirits declare war upon the injustice.

 

Dour oaths are made to capture us,

bounties galore from the Gods for our skins.

Living among the humans,

waiting for errors as angels descend  among the thirteen tribes of man.

Ambushing the invading army,

our cast is made there is no remorse for our brethren. Rage, Hate, Vengeance,

and malice run barbarous in our bloodstreams.

 

The Wages of the Savior is a vain death,

the labor for darkness is the glory of thine soul.

 

Never alone as we stand against the forces of

oppression,

the Gods will fall it is time for a new revolution.

Passionate killing strokes fill the urn with heads of the

generals,

waiting for the seasons to enunciate our destiny we train under the love of the oak tree.

Blind to fate and ignoring the whispers of karma,

the war engulfs the world in a ball of fire.

Bodies lay cold, souls have no home,