Astarte

To every thing there is a reason
To all destruction there is an answer
In the past lands of underneath wounds
A curse was meant to awake
It was planed to step upon the culture of enigma
Egyptian heritage rise in the surface of nowadays
A land dressed in its divine tranquility
Now stigmatized by man's ideology
Access to the dust f turning weeps
There the mummy queen rests her glory
A forgotten unharmed flesh made by blood
Purificated in the pulse of icy ages
Her ice grave has melted the freshness
A heart respirator's between past and future
The black gates have now open