O-la Sanctus, E-u Sanctus, Où est la Lumière . . . Ah, c'est toi?
Are we more Holy, Are we more Holy, Where is the light . . . Is that you?

I am blood, and I am flesh
wings torn, bone ripped from bone
the divine I am not, do not seek me.

Prophet, Metatron, Nisroch
why brand me with these curses
yet raise me on an altar?

My eyes are not blinded - I see clear
my flesh is not purified to ash - I live still
I speak what I am told to - nothing more

If you seek my wisdom, pilgrim
seek too the pain it will bring flesh and soul
knowledge is sin without redemption


I have messages for some of you. Seek me.