PROPHECY - Tica

Microscopic dust... To exist as I of many eyes Tentacles in our heads wrestling with anonymous segments. Rowing deep into the murk with psychosis sitting on my

A chill in the air Atmospheric matrix sweeping on bohemian campgrounds When the voices of violoins carry the entranced Wanderers in a ring of firelight Creating

From the ancient race of the immortals We enjoy the moon Us its eternal vassals Pondering our lost humanity Forever fated to wander the obscurity Hunters Hunted