In a dark isolated room , with dampness in the air , lay a pregnant nymph frightened by the lack of hope broadcasted by this place . A place seems to be out of the plan of god , with only the coldness and silence … The silence of misfortune . ( léger écho sur “ silent “ ) She’s about to give birth to her most important fear . Not spawned from a rape but by love . A dream suddenly obscured by claws so strong … The claws were from hell and were grinding her subconscious with an unknown pain .
Completely withdrawn into herself with rolled back eyes and afraid to confront the critical moment , she’s crying , she’s suffering and from a womb blue with pain begins to appear life … A life representing the pupil of the Master . From a fertile temple , god has spawned its own death . ( écho sur la fin de “death“ ) Like a tired father subconsciously leaving his reign via parricide to a thirsty son …
All was done in secrets , all was done in filth , all was done in fear , all was done in beauty , all was done with sweat , all was done with blood , all was done in spite of us , and in incomprehension .
Not the son of man but one of his sons Amongst …
Any of those beings are a gift to greet with all our heart . And through us , sons of man , pure hatred towards our fellow men isn’t selective but absolute .
When her eyes were re-opened , it was tears of joy that falling on the cheek of the woman ; Tracing in the dirt the fate already written of this son . A son who will contemplate grace and perfection with bliss …