Blood of the Primordial

Before a heartbeat,

before a name,

There was nothing to burn,

nothing to blame.

Just a cold, locked vault in a timeless night,

Then a sickening tear and a blinding light.

It wasn't a gift,

it wasn't a grace,

It was a slaughter of silence,

a rip in space.

And the universe screamed as it tore its own skin,

That’s the filthy dark room where we all begin.

Stitched out of chaos,

flung into the cold,

A pathetic little story already told.

Oh, we’re children of a brutal tear,

Born from a blast that didn't care.

We carry the violence,

we carry the ash,

Just a tragic little spark from a cosmic crash.

So heavy the stardust,

so heavy the bone,

Thrown out in the dark to bleed alone.

Billions of years just to cool down the blood,

Turning burning debris into sorrow and mud.

Now we walk on the crust of a volatile ball,

Pretending there's meaning behind the great fall.

You look in my eyes and you search for a sign,

As if a dying explosion could make us divine.

There is no creator.

There is only the wound.

We are just the echoes Of a universe ruined.

Bleeding out slowly in the freezing rain,

Giving a voice to the silent pain.

Just ash...

(ash...) Just a scar in the dark.

From a violent,

Mindless

Spark.