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Giant ominous presence

None could know your fate

Creator of our soul, our essence

From a desertic land, you create

Life, sinless beings

Pure as nothing has ever been

But perfection of the result

Is not the end you have in mind

Stellar embrace

Absence of terror

Peace of the emptiness

In the Minds of the Sculptor

Absorbed by its own self

The creature runs wild

No sense of purpose

The Sculptor sees

The Sculptor hears

But its multiple minds agreed

What we create we set free

From the grip of the deity

Autonomous creation

Led by an instinct of predation

Expanding territory as a main goal

On the inside, its rage boils

When the clay was poured into the mold

No destiny unfold

The newly sculpted born cold

With many stories to be told

Linked together, bound to evolve

No fate enforced but a strong resolve

As one, they're full of horror

As one, they're the Minds of the Sculptor