...and i will make the dust return to your faces.
You will perish like men of ignorance.
Pesten hoer.
Devils seed.
I am blood, i am soil.
I know the ever impulsive falsehood.
We drag our heels through the echoes of winter,
Reminding ourselves of a regretful past.
Blinded by your great vulgarity.
Persued by a tempest downtrodden.
Struggling to remain bouyant in your filth.
Forever buried under judicious reflections.
I am the dying starfields.
Blood-borne demise.
We drag our heels through the echoes of winter,
Reminding ourselves of a regretful past.
Peripheries frost-laced, like dying clouds.
Casting the skyline with our decadence and glut