Texty: Exhumator. Illusions Of Burial.

Life is like dome of
Many colored glass.
Rising above shining and flashing
Until death does not chopping
It's turned into remains those, what before
Was supreme creation of god
Didn't touched the only one
What is intractable to alteration in time
Does not turning to ashes
And completely belongs to creator
Our soul, it's like a mirror
Mirror the lighted photo of soul
The souls are moving as mirrors
Along the burning conveyor of life
Going away into immortality
To raise new dome
And repeat all circles again
The illusion of burial
Loosed the irrevocable your mind
Can't understand more,
Recalling about past
You're transferring into present
With still large sufferings about future.
Wiping all sides and destroying the obstacles
Standing out of you charge of energy
Called life
Is great and capable
Turned into dust
If death on its path ...