They should feel our shadows at their backs, nipping at soft heels, the ribbed fight of a tightening noose. A nose smashed as quickly as it's turned. A darkness devours repeatedly.
Drag them from peace (torn from the quiet of purpose) I create chewed gristle meat.
Their sinew is soft and easily torn. Their bones are made vulnerable by the brittling effects of fear. Break them. They'll feel a triumph to awake.
(Torn from the quiet of purpose) drag them from peace. Transcend mortal hostility. I create chewed gristle and meat.
This world is a machine, it is efficient and totaling. It breaks. It is a glutton.
Ever-moving, I can't be human. I break.
A smoke can drive them: ignite a flame to light the recessed corners of their minds. Forced, bent wrist and tight-gripped, to retreat from the promise of the sun.
I wait for the skies to throb into life with fire. The burning of the night will be remarkable in that you will see not many fires, but one. Outstanding, it will tower among the homes of Heaven.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
