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I am not only a color** |
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But lately 17 and 3 |
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As the 11th will eventually die. |
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Time is brief and never longer |
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Therefore I allow my shoulder to bury |
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And all my fingers line one by one |
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Then I can deny the black hole |
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And deeply fold in a chasity of insights |
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Next time we listen to your blood and it results in the sin of my strangled sprat as half watch the loud pitch laugh in your vicinity |
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And the evilly humored temptation tarnish fruit-bearing Suicide |
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My saddle will skid no further into tomorrow |
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And in 1955 the dead will die in the infernal oblivion of my own domain |
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However, we won't conquer like Erinnyen in page two but rather stalk our soulless nature in 3 shades of grey |
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To Caress a delusion sometimes causes a peculiar presence which behaves how a deeply sunken razor would sound in blood and consequently our echos let a glow in the breastless Bestiarium. |
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No |
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As my poisoned Shadows broke in two from the Zodiacal Light and only farther a displeased death of the struggling odoring |
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Shock of a horned blade in the perfection of Animalistic Lust |
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Decorating itself in a disgusting Vesture |
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Bacchanten Climbed Icy Abysses yet, it won't Bring Forth the tender damnation |
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Necessity to breed is blinded by the Oviparious yearn for death. |
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And those not against God & Lucifer are suspicious |
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A dissolute force highhandedly requires danger |
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When Death Rings for several luckless Maids |
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Bluish Anarchy will instill over the Gates of Naked lust |
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Only an elder enrichment of the boiling-points to forgive my life |
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Will the Blasphemic Origin contribute to all the Graven Feet of the downfall. |
