Paroles de 'Thought - Cathedral' par Ingurgitating Oblivion

Oh, what a pleasent silence dominated the thought - cathedral in the bygone times.
I remember the pale moonbeams that shone through the narrow windows I didn´t dare to approach
- fragile figures of light that gave the icons life in the twighlight with such an exquisite tenderness that amazed me again and again.
In such moments I used to observe the children of the moon dancing on the shady flag stones, enmishing the rigid statues and trying to elicit them cautious smiles.
Very often I sat under vast vaults of marble musing deeply on this diffuse why, sometimes startled by a shouting jester or this scintillating veil of ignorance and lacking comprehension - but this reflecting fool´s stream of consciousness never ended.
Now and again I stirred at the altar flanked by mighty arcades that towered into the opaque nothingness of devouring doubts.
Neither ornaments nor vague inscriptions embellished the still columns and walls in this dim palace that reminded me from time to time of a terribly vast shroud of tenderly falling rain.
A fragile sheen of rememberance then glittered from afar relating of times before I closed my eyes to fall endlessly and to roam in unknown spheres in search of the thought - cathedral. Finally, I reached it and I felt relief.
But now ...?
Although I understood such delusive visions, they enlightened my mind. During serenades of Chopin and Tschaikowsky the horned serpent Ninnghizhidda winded up the arcades murmuring cryptic spells. Enki, the father of deep sang ancient poems in a warlike manner, and I saw the majestic gardens of Babylon and Ur in their spendid times.
The colours of chaos revealed brutally to my bleeding eyes;
I observed my anxious face emerging from an ocean of devine subjugation, laughing idiotically and being drunk of transcendent wine that got soiled by the cruel tyranny of decadent gods in battle.
My face ... a desperate mask of ignorance.
My hands ... grabbing for the wildly swirling thoughts in these halls of disorder.
I remember that I awkwardly tried to catch some of these chaotic reflections that took on farcical forms.
Sometimes I captured one of those poplymorphous entities.
Then a shrewd idea lamented in my merciless grey hands. In such moments a suffocating desire strangled my throat ... I felt the necessity of obtruncating and dissecting such whimpering thought - shivers and I suffered from this cruel need that filled me up.
That is what was, that is what is - I still dwell in the thought cathedral musing deeply on this diffuse why, sometimes startled by a shouting jester. I am haunted by delusive ideas of cognition that try to engulf my reflection.
Eons are passing by.
There´s always hope when I succeed in catching one of those swirling ideas, studying its subtile anatomy. I am waiting infinitely for the day I understand the thought - cathedral´s architecture.
That is what was, that is what is - but will this ever be?