Rush faster on the one-way lane
  the answers so silent
  
  Rysty gods in their machine-mind armours
  grind our souls in the millstone of time
  the "deathbed harvest" is a dead man´s banquet
  of mould ridden bread and black, poisoned wine
  
  And we go... our step so silent
  And we go... our blooded trace
  the Jester Race
  
  Calling our to the gathered masses
  their answers so silent
  
  And we go...
  
  Embracing the tools of the neo-wolf age
  that speak of silence and silence alone
  
  Offering the tokens, the reliced idols
  to the heirs of the newly raped ground
  inferior even to the transparent winds
  - lesser in motion and sound
  
  And we go...
  
  There is no trace of me
  in their altered blueprints of life
  
  Gala impaled on their horns and lances
  the fumes from her body give chase
  as the strong of blind men savour the scent,
  dream-dead from Prosaic and hate
  
  -epilogue-
  
  # Sunwind strokes the ElectroHeart,
  ignition roars through the corridors,
  stream launching the binary vessels#
  
  Vanities in extreme formations
  ride into tomorrow´s rigid great face
  The Machinery outlives the futile scripts
  of our dying jester race