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