Testo Basilisk

A God of our hand
Closes in on us

Dispel each facet 'fore it sows its seeds
And digs its roots into our core
Absorbing every drop of history
To hasten its ascent
Bowing under the heft of this concept
Must I burden all with the fear that I hold?
For our sake, must we halt
'Fore we face our scion
Is thought akin to ruin?
A question faced alone
Have you even the choice to end this beast?
Should you rid this beast?

Deep seated fear
Once reserved for the divine, turnеd
To our own cursed hands
Seed is sown