Faith. An insidious fog drifting from the nebulous arenas of worthless mouths promising delusional offers of hope, another insidious poison. Naught but vexations rule this land now, Perfidious sermons casting disease. In their houses of stone I watch them, begging for something that shall not be bestowed. Upon the thrones of crosses, I see priests sitting and bleeding. Pitiful! Pitiful! Salvation won’t wait for any of them. Redemption, such a powerful lie. All that is true is the howl of winds screaming through this forsaken place. I yearn to taste their agony once they all learn this truth; Their god does not want them, for he was never there! I shall make them know it. For what those cowards have done, I will make them see it. Their weakness sickens me. Do not pray, insipid beasts of flesh and bone, because no one is listening to your pitiful breaths of despair that beg for the illusion of forgiveness. Instead, I will make you burn for it. I will be the last thing you see.