Third Eye

When he walks the path of the sun's grave, his feet dragging on the dust, like if he wears lead boots, we can see the marks of his endless journey in wrapping malice; All around the hearts are dry and the tongues are sharp as thorns, everybody's laughing, filling the air with fetid warmth, they wave their hands and point at their jackets, they have a tasteless rainbow smile and use it to pollard their way through success, cutting flesh and muscles... and dreams; The walker only see one spot in the fade distance, he finds his will in his inner knowledge, the road is long and his body is slowy leaking on the ground but he knows that at the end the deliverance will be unraveled by the steady opening of his third eye.