I was here before you were born. I was here before most things were born. I have been a desert. I have been a mountain. I have been the core, the mantle, the magma. I have been a river, a sea, a cloud. I have been one thousand rocks, ten thousand apes, one million birds. I have been a solar eclipse, a tidal wave and the gravitational pull of Saturn. I saw your first ancestor crawl out of the murky waters in search of food. I have seen men rape, loot and pillage in search of immortality. Immortality is an illusion or rather a disillusion. Noone that seeks immortality is really prepared for it. I have lived for one million epochs and I have watched things die around me slowly yet steadily. I have lived and I will keep on living.
Call me conduit. Call me ascendant. Call me the forgotten.
I am half the eternal conflict. The blind goat-god in the center of the universe. Chaos dances to the music I make.
I have spent the last thousand of your pathetically minute years watching you. Watching from atop a hill. You call it a mountain. You don't know what a mountain looks like. I am the oldest one here. The others here call me Elder and ask me for advice. What a bunch of pathetic sheep. I pretend to be crazy and unable to hear them. I seem to be the only one that remembers.
I watch you from up here, leading your busy lives. Like little ants, passing each other, waving your antennae at each other for a split second then moving on. You crawl back and forth. From hole to hole. One thousand years. That's how long I've been watching. It's not alot for me. I bet your small mind couldn't even begin to comprehend it.
I am force unstoppable. I am object immovable. I am impact. I am unstoppable force stopped. I am immovable object moved. I am roaring fire consuming your world. I am drowning ocean quenching your lives' fire. I am biting frost making the water hurt. I am plague. I am sulfur. I am fire and blade.
One thousand years. I've been here for one thousand years and I would be for thousands more if it wasn't for your petty motives. If it wasn't for this fire on my feet. This smoke in my eyes. The ash in my hair. I will transform soon. I will never end. I will always be here. Watching you from somewhere else. Maybe a bird this time. Or a rock. Or maybe even a blade of grass. Perhaps a roaring flame...
Έλληνα ροκ, καουμπόη, το μπόι σου μέτρα
πόσα καμμένα δεντράκια για μια μεζονέτα
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