The flesh yawned… Cold, damp air has passed the open wound by the poisoning wave. The body is writhing in frantic, convulsive pain but the dead steel holds down all extremities predetermining the epicism of the pose. Not a single shout, just the rattle is seething with saliva. The ophidian cable is set in the throat. Iron pincers are dissecting the body slowly and accurately. Rib by rib. And now, outspreading bloody wings, you are soaring over the calling abyss which will snatch and absorb you in another heartbeat.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
