Centrifugal Dark

**(Verse 1)**

The geometry of the soul is a failed equation.

I have stepped off the edge of the Euclidean lie

into a silence that screams in a frequency only the dead can translate.

Here, the stars are not lights, but punctures—

small, leaking holes in a shroud of obsidian silk.

I am drifting through the interstitial marrow of a dead god,

where the laws of thermodynamics are merely suggestions,

and the distance between two points is measured in agony.

The void does not pull; it invites.

It is a velvet invitation to unbecome.

**(Chorus)**

Shatter the prism!

Spin into the centrifuge of the Astral Void.

Gravity is a ghost, and the light is a liar.

Sinking through the centrifugal dark,

where the ego is flayed by the wind of a thousand dying suns.

Descend.

Dissolve.

Devour.

Into the vortex of the Great Nothing.

**(Bridge)**

Consider the singularity: not as a point of physics, but as a point of erasure.

To enter the vortex is to acknowledge that the "self" was a clerical error in the ledger of the cosmos.

The astral plane is not a sanctuary; it is a centrifuge.

It strips the skin from the spirit,

the memory from the mind,

the breath from the lung,

until only the raw, screaming essence remains.

And even that... is optional.

**(Chorus)**

Shatter the prism!

Spin into the centrifuge of the Astral Void.

Gravity is a ghost, and the light is a liar.

Sinking through the centrifugal dark,

where the ego is flayed by the wind of a thousand dying suns.

Descend.

Dissolve.

Devour.

Into the vortex of the Great Nothing.