Exercises in Futility I

The great truth is that there isn't one
 And it only gets worse
 Since that conclusion
 The irony of being
 An extension to nothing
 And the force of inertia
 Is now a vital factor
 ♪
 And there is despair underneath
 Each and every action
 Each and every attempt to pierce the armour of numbness
 Burning bridges becomes a habit to support
 And the frontline expands
 Like there's no tomorrow
 ♪
 I envy
 The maggots
 Their stuff
 At least sticks together
 Better than laudations of misinformed seers
 And those are lengthy annals of shame that we work with
 It's like dumping dead meat at the brink of Styx
 With a barge that we made of what was left of Yggdrasil
 After veterans of spiritual revolts were done with their armchairs
 And I don't even remember which brink is which
 ♪
 The odour of sanctity is just refined stench of existence
 
 Shining pearl of Augeas' crown pales in comparison
 ♪
 And there is despair underneath
 Each and every action
 Each and every attempt to pierce the armour of numbness
 Burning bridges becomes a habit to support
 And the frontline expands
 Like there's no tomorrow
 ♪
 The grotesque eagles of misfortune, well-fed on Thanatos
 Sit still
 
 It's the dignity of scavengers
 At the ever-growing garbage dump of life
 ♪
 There is something about
 The rigid posture
 Of a proper, authentic blind
 As if extended arms
 Reached
 To pass his blindness onto others