A synthesis of collective existence. A dialectic of the old order and the new world. Demise; a fall of Absolutes. Imminence; a choir of celestial flutes.
What can be heard of the sentiment of soilent green?.. The B-29 Bomber, Enola Gay; a personified Grim Reaper,. leaving behind a mushroom-cloud and heavy ground haze,.
I can really safely say. That you're still alive. One thing they can't take away. Is your will to survive. . I know I won't believe it. I know I won't believe it.
In the desert plains. They ride. Two faced killers on the battle line. No defeat. One kind deed. And bullets to your brain. . Here they wanna go to sleep.
Bad menace. Bloody taste. Hold him in a vicelike grip. Disordered life. A rabid dog. Blinded by deceit. . Abhorrence of the paltry and human remains. Moronic sentiments are born to be expectorated.
Stunted growth of emotions. Incurable confused. Gazing at her reflections. Mentally abused. . You kill the one you love. At the first opportunity. Wistful resolution.
See the gun high velocity. Levelled to my heart. Magazine filled with hollow points. Bullets invented to slaughter. They activate the trigger. I get fired to the wall.
Insanity holds me tight. The lowest forms of my life. Fortification and gleam. To start the fire in me. . Breaking all the rules. To breed my fear through you.
Slazing scents taint with blood. Signed his path of death. Trace him to the place of fright. Searching for his daily bread. When midnight comes around.
Don't believe in rights. There is no such thing. Tearing up the garbage. With pain and suffering. . Breaking rules is your desire. You got no sympathy.
Source and seed of misanthropy. Is the age of inquisition. Where kings and queens got the power. To lay down immoral religions. Pursuit of innocent flesh.
Tides of running blood upon my face. Caressing my soul like a sweet embrace. Passionate, secret and profound. Gleaming eyes of uncharitable love. Shuffling out of mental claws to find a resort.
Tides of running blood upon my face. Caressing my soul like a sweet embrace. Passionate, secret and profound. Gleaming eyes of uncharitable love. Shuffling out of mental claws to find a resort.
Armed and ready I sit in a room. Vanishing power. A sting in my arm. Blood pours on the floor. Final hour. The one that got me out of the grave. Always there.
I feel a rifle bullet bore into my heart. A sudden impact shock that stops my pulsing blood. I see the glory shining light of paradise. And insincerities, forever left behind.
From worlds beyond worlds within worlds they came,. these thorns, merging into blossoms of agonizing light.... Never to burst into flower, for those who know are the bearers of fury,.
bark! we are the tragedians, we mach abreast,. onward to our inmost, forever exploring the heavens to claw at carrion,. to cloth our hearts in thorns and our wounds in robes of salt..
Paleskinned invader, of bestial kind. Starlit impaler, shackled upon this thornthrone of mine. . beware !. He bears a bejewelled crystalsemen. His spawn's a wrathful plague.
No it won't be easy. There'll be scrum on the graveyard and a nail thru my tongue. No it won't be easy. There'll be some tombtrippers and a song for the wrong.