Time is not a river—it’s a coil, A serpent made of ash and oil. It loops, it binds, it sheds its skin, Yet starts again where it begins. You chase the future like it’s new, But every step’s déjà vu. The hourglass is not a gate— It’s a cage dressed up as fate. Chrono Serpent, spiral tight— Devour days and swallow night. Wrap around the spines of men, Break their clocks and bend again. We are prey in loops of flame, Choking on a godless name. Your heartbeat’s just a ticking curse, Each pulse a prayer, each breath rehearse. You think you’re climbing—rising free— But you’re pacing rings you’ll never see. The future’s just a masked repeat, Worn shoes on ancient, burning streets. You scream “progress!” into the dark, But that echo’s just a dying spark. It bites its tail and grins with teeth— Time's not straight, it's curled beneath. You thought you’d made it out alive? No one leaves the coil… you arrive. Chrono Serpent, king of lies— Coiling truth ‘til reason dies. Round and round, decay disguised, We burn the same and call it “wise.” There is no end, just endless skin— The beast you’re in won’t let you win. Hiss in the dark... Breathe the spin... The serpent waits ...to start again.
