A Rumour called Sheol

Painted hands on the pillars of my world 
The one world that's made of many 
Adjust the grasp to shift the paradigm 
For the blinded and the weak 
For everyone 
Everyone 
No master to betray and drive 
The trade of every answer for a soul 
In spirals, circles, wastelands broad 
That reach for the rift between the flesh and living spirit 
No conclusion will remain unmoved 
Unchanged, unbroken, stoic 
When the serpent feeds upon it's tail 
The door will be reopened.