Текст: Ghost Of A Fallen Age. The Summit's Burn.

If the veil were to be lifted from our callow gaze and our existence split wide open, it would expose a torrential theater of war encompassing our rootless pursuits of fulfillment. If the cloak were to be lifted from the eyes of humanity, allowing us to see the elaborate strands of things that may or may not come to pass. Things concealed by cataracts designed to preserve our wits. If our ears no longer remain silent to the harmonies and dissonance of overtures that saturate the skies and omit the ossicles, then our negligence will become our noose