The tumour is corrupting inexorably, fed with the black criminal bile, branching out in thousands of children: the wicked offshoots of the holiest pathosis.
They walk not in glory but in shame. They’re rewarded not in solace but in pain. But such is their curse, their hopeless assignment: a life of death!
The crawling murder growing on sickness in threading through the veils of this world whose heart malignantly beats, burning of an unholy fire warming the fury, brightening up all deathly instincts: the macabre genocide frenzy!
And these children are sick with the Devil, their breath is contagious. The Earth was born cancerous, and the plague is still spreading. The titanic splendour of the god against all cannot know any umbrage. Such a glory is eternal! So kneel the children to their father of fire.
They walk not in glory but in shame. They’re rewarded not in solace but in pain. And everything is sick with the most abominable, the greatest disease, from which nothing can be cured: the astral malediction, the infernal curse of this world.
