Father: how sins are taken, without a cruel but necessary bloodshed? How the sterility is bathed, without ripping of the heavens for the sacred waterfall? How are the mysteries of the world purged without the swing of the sword with a tragic move? The womb of the earth is drenched with the t(h)orns of destiny, and the attendance of the final unveiling of the newborn will be assisted with dirty hands and a wrathful eye in surveillance. The assumptions of this great mystery lies behind the stone; for the determinant sworn was accomplished first with a sign of pain.
Is the compelling substance of every form of fire, understanding that ignition is primal, with or without combustion. The vicious sign of the avenger enlightens but of course enshrouded in an intrinsic darkness; feeding the angst corroding the vein and the demonic wings gripping the lung. Turning the eyes to a crimson red, and that reddened vision that will not distinguish any sign of difference or preference.
The words of the lord, are mere joy but in his vengeful substance.
So does his children, which are appendixes of his own hate towards his creation.
Seven sins forged in seven days of the origin, shall not rest with the heat of Sunday.
A mortuary robe is falling on the earth, and the exquisite mortis animi delights on our will to be unrestful. That necessity of striving almost acausal for it is a natural fact; somber, is the vision of giving birth and a continuum to this vicious cycle of unearthly and impure morbidity.
Sink in the pleasures with fangs as extended as the seas that can engulf everything. For ye soils cannot, ever, be more than barren in odor of rot.
Is thy heart strengthful? Enough until adamantly, to bear the spears of guilt, the passion of disgust; to deny to what you must! Are thy eyes wide? To witness the unreasonable, to obviate the unfairness, to be blind in front of cruelty? Are thy veins opened? Enough to become rivers, of the waters of the tears, of a world that is falling down? Is thy wand firm! To procreate the children of the night, obscure vermin of filth: black womb of emaciation. Pierce with thy burning arrow! The dagger is pointing midnight!
Lo! Thy lord is gone! Behold the ascent, of those who are descent, law of Lucifer’s strength.
Agios! Master thou are lord! Behold the foul, in the eyes of radiance, scorn of morning star.
Amen! Our war is won! Behold rejection, lawless now ruler, piercing injection.
Lux comedenti!
