Barren, first, the golden nest. The budding breast. Bloated with mystical, imaginary potential that paused in glory with thoughts of ghosts, fled. The ebbing, unknown wound. The disfigured prison of resonant debauchery; Seeping through cracks, corroded with mold.
Blissfully ignorant insanity. Misled prayers for sunshine in the hopeless, godless cathedral of rapid time. Like a tsunami of death, a roaring river of blood, drowning the life out of all that was good.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.