| [00:14.89] |
They began to scourge me at the pillars. |
| [00:18.95] |
Tools ripping away at my flesh. |
| [00:22.58] |
The figures have abruptly become killers, |
| [00:26.01] |
And my memory starts to refresh. |
| [00:29.14] |
The holy hands of the sky, the architects of life, |
| [00:35.71] |
Brought me back as I began to die. |
| [00:44.58] |
The wrath of the gods, unleashed upon me. |
| [00:50.70] |
Through my wrist they place their pins. |
| [00:54.65] |
Their blackened eyes are filled with intent. |
| [00:57.96] |
How can I speak or resist? |
| [00:59.58] |
My body's in paralysis. |
| [01:01.76] |
These surgeons are artists, my body is canvas. |
| [01:05.89] |
The needles make my skin peel. |
| [01:08.83] |
This cannot be. This isn't real. |
| [01:12.33] |
|
| [01:26.19] |
This is the pain of a million deaths. |
| [01:28.94] |
My anatomy is the the theatre of war. |
| [01:32.82] |
I am the witness of catastrophe. |
| [01:37.16] |
|
| [02:38.25] |
My structure is shattered, it lies in ruin. |
| [02:41.00] |
My body is gone, but I'm still alive. |
| [02:51.82] |
They are the artists. |
| [02:55.21] |
The sole creators. |
