PLANNED OBSOLENCE

They are serving time in the middle of nowhere now, the trusted few, men of the black Sabbath

Once loyal and with an aura of deep self hate that made the rain fall harder and with a deeper intensity

Now soon cut loose amongst the blinded, mutilated yet respected, dried blood cracks in the sand

There had never been a mightier band of brothers, no entry and never an exit, the perfect circle

Hooded slow moving beasts with no respect for the Watchtower, godless and free of masters and followers

Over the treetops a wind of dark tranquility whispers a hateful spell over the forlorn, forgotten times once again reborn

Who will take shelter and who will perish into dust, filling all gaps and smothering the broken statuettes of glorious conquests

Suffer complete ruin and destruction, where man once thrived now shadows of the lost seeker still remains

The deep agony takes you in hand and leads you into the unknown, a path that dwindles down through dark woods of long forgotten spells

Men of the black Sabbath gather here to find inner strength, to feed on each others painful wisdom before the judgment fall through

Time is the worst enemy as days long and gloomy reaches into even the most hardened mind and slowly eats itself out

The once trusted few awaits the verdict from the headless old Ape man, out for blood while the pack in dead silence lust for man flesh yet again

Not made to last, suffering and pain erodes the circle from within, scattered gathering of trusted, dead leaves falling from the rotten old oak

The mountain gathers the shadows to haunt the last ray of light back to the fading day of lost hope

I will wake up

Wounds shall heal

Claw like fingers bent

Worn and broken

Hooded menace

Scanning the land

Bones dried to dust

Dead lingers

Repeat the deed

The trusted few look ahead

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