I am not only a color
but lately 17 and 3
As the 11th will eventually die.
Time is brief and never longer
therefore I allow my shoulder to bury
and all my fingers line one by one
Then I can deny the black hole
and deeply fold in a chasity of insights
Next time we listen to your blood and it results in the sin of my strangled sprat as half watch the loud pitch laugh in your vicinity
And the evilly humored temptation tarnish fruit-bearing Suicide
My saddle will skid no further into tomorrow
And in 1955 the dead will die in the infernal oblivion of my own domain
However, we won't conquer like Erinnyen in page two but rather stalk our soulless nature in 3 shades of grey
To Caress a delusion sometimes causes a peculiar presence which behaves how a deeply sunken razor would sound in blood and consequently
our echos let a glow in the breastless Bestiarium.
As my poisoned Shadows broke in two from the Zodiacal Light and only farther a displeased death of the struggling odoring
Shock of a horned blade in the perfection of Animalistic Lust
Decorating itself in a disgusting Vesture
Bacchanten Climbed Icy Abysses yet, it won't Bring Forth the tender damnation
Necessity to breed is blinded by the Oviparious yearn for death.
And those not against God & Lucifer are suspicious
A dissolute force highhandedly requires danger
When Death Rings for several luckless Maids
Bluish Anarchy will instill over the Gates of Naked lust
Only an elder enrichment of the boiling-points to forgive my life
Will the Blasphemic Origin contribute to all the Graven Feet of the downfall.