This is a lesson for the fodder of the worms - One thousand candles, extinguished, still amount to naught.
I am scorn. I am raw misanthropy. I am without end. I am vile eternally. I am black. I am The Black Obscene. I care not, for the rotting sentiment of the fleeting belittled by death's profound disgrace. No mercy for the insignificant.
Since its conception, I've despised the feeble Man: riddled with weakness; content to flail and writhe; scarcely standing on their own limbs before they decay. More time elapses, as they rot away. They peel and wither with the passing of mundane eons but still it seems that they cannot grasp this null revelation.
In time all will fall but not I. I am scorn. I am raw misanthropy. I am without end. I am vile eternally. I am black. I am The Black Obscene.
The dying candles represent the arrogant years of reign of man, coming to their foreseen end. Pitifully doomed to fail before they began; a worthless piece of time, this age of man. I dance upon the collective grave of all that's mortal. I cast my sardonic grin across existence.
On the day you were born. On the day your children die. I jeer!