A senseless beating from cradle to grave
of constantly awarding or condemning yourself,
of life-long longing for some safe place,
on this spiral-explosive universal stage.

There's no way of stopping this corruption of words
making a mess out of every truth.
An' no hope either for wing-clipped birds
of ever reaching the moon.

The Brimstorm will be here soon.
The Brimstorm will be here soon.

Life is the cruelest kind of mentor
a narcissistic and self-righteous confessor. (...?)
Exploiting my weakness and strenght,
teaching it's hexagon lesson.

Failur on failur, till death leaps in,
nothing to scratch out my eyes for.
But a voice that began to heckle once
is getting louder then before.

Though nothing can overshadow the Brimstorm.
Though nothing can overshadow the Brimstorm.

The leaves are eternal, but the trees are not.
Nor are the frozen fruits.
They're bitten by winter winds but are still alive
on their tree with rotting roots.

As the moonlight blinds my eyes
and the snow weighs down my shoulders;
nature tells me no lies
but it's truth is a heavy boulder.

The Brimstorm is even closer.
The Brimstorm is even closer.

I breath on the window and foresee the future,
it'll crack if i breathe again.
But seeing the future and letting it slip
is enough to flip you insane.

These mundane ideals, stacked on eachother
by modern day heroes without shape or form.
I can only hope they belong to a dying race
but they're constantly being born.

Are they prepared for the Brimstorm?
Are they prepared for the Brimstorm?

This numb heart of mine won't last much longer
some years, give or take.
And it's not exactly growing stronger
in this existance of plastic and fake.

We've reached a point where words do no good
and where worlds are overrun by the tearless.
My regrets pile up as the end grows near
but at least i stand ready and fearless.

The Brimstorm is here.