Your blood’s from the hands of god,
but there’s blood on your hands,

on your hands,
Infinite perfection lies, gone.

「ΔDSUM」 - Bleed

When shall we three meet again
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

Adsum - Ternary

O trees of life, when does your winter come?
We are not in harmony, our blood does not forewarn us
like migratory birds'. Late, overtaken,
we force ourselves abruptly onto the wind
and fall to earth at some iced-over lake.
Flowering and fading come to us both at once.
And somewhere lions still roam and never know,
in their majestic power, of any weakness. 