The Swansong of Conscience Songtext
von Vengeur

The train is leaving
Into the pale dawn, in chilled leaves
The final station sits, barely sultry
Its air won′t dare interrupt
Savoring finalization on top of unfulfilled colors
Far too many, yet intersecting traces of the gaze
Construct a contemplating structure
Itself deserving contemplation, and invoking
Pleasant spasms of sincere admiration
That disconnects the hardly tethered fragments
Of fractured camera, thus rendering the encircling element
No longer appurtenant to the prime beholder
Natheless, is in such wise an all-dissolved sightlessness
Imposed onto him? Or is instead the once restricting element exalted
By its liberating atavism, forthwith allowing to spotlight
The celestial triangle and bring out the hollowness of the Trinity,
Now short of an escape path, and therefore colliding
With each edge in invisible, mute agony, explosive enough
To force the trigon into cold kisses, yet interim
Still succumbing to a wry smile


And its cessation is neither regardable nor evident
From the lowness of the planet
Thus, contrast is reached on all ends
Every pole saturated, exhausted, and overflowing
With haematic spirals forming at the flawed vacuity
Where all meanings are eating at each other
Theatric epilogue predates resolution
Such is the crucial constitution
Of animate existence
As expressed and blessed
By the radiant mind of Shahryar
No words of wisdom spared to underline the finity
A sacred separation
Of the profound divine and human dignity
Excluding worthless absolution
Quixotic in first place, desiderata
To nurture the living data
Simultaneous in such evening and eternal morning
Its presence and importance prove to be of perfect undeniability
That performs with transcendent efficacy, even though
Not contesting the lack of limitation to our understanding
It is the litmus test submerged into the act
Of you falling asleep each night, exploring the ability
To manifest the dearth of stable setting
For the second space engulfs that which demands forgetting
Unlike the primary value, which in my case is found nowhere
This where is here, but here's not there, so...
If I am here, then where?
Most likely, I stand by the wall of a dimly lit room
In which you stare
From every corner
Awaiting temporary execution, the fallout of which
Is wickedly short-lived, yet it would be far more sensible
To commit the act of reignition
In complete availability to the public eye
Therefore, we choose to venture outside
Where few but me bear the notion
That any process carried out to consummation requires a sacrifice
And what took place in the rehearsals
Is subjected to repeat
Sparing neither you nor me
Precluding not one soul
From convulsing in the street