A silence so great even rage can't break it,
Windblown, salt flats reflecting of patience,
Emptiness of a new variety,
Not nothing, but everything under your propriety.
Omnipotence, the grand delusion of gods,
Not cosmic, but mortal,
The ability to see through the fog,
Which we once walked.
But no more, we are bogged,
By lies and fiction of bonds.
We are here, this is it,
Nothing more, nothing less.