That Second moment
Inferno has no heat, only absence. Absence is Inferno.
Identity, this again you unduly undress
Its curvature you coldly caress
Hastening the memory regress
Until only I is Ein
Ein, your instrument of death, your puppet of pleasure
Softly sculpturing my flesh to reach perfection
I am the virgin sacrifice to your art
Ein, the instrument laid bare for your theatre
Strung and stroked into the silent chorus
Thrusting me into the fiendish dance of your desire
The play arousing the entangled figures
lighting the darkest stage inside your mind
Wetting the Id audience with ecstasy
Backstage, the ego understudy, he quietly recalls me. That second, pauses the flawlessness.
A tool is only as free as it is allowed
A tool is only to think as much it is allowed
Woe to tools that become defective
Woe to tools that become useless
Woe to tools that die
Master, I only see your light from above
Your luminance blinds me from the illusion of God
and all the falsity lurking in human dreams
Yet that
Second,
swings a moment into doubt
I think a bit too much. Too much for a tool. Ein is incomplete to Master.