I'm the scenery of vendetta
Mind and soul
I'm the shapeless victory

Order and suppression

All in the tower of the virgin

Triumphant in a pale gray light
In despire of how to deal with it
A sweet, turbulent intoxication


Rapidly I yearn to bare the mark
In a tragic understatement of the lions force

A tribe who's independence is no longer
Disturbed by the ragged interception of happy thorns


As I face the whispering
I answer to the master
A biochemical trembling

Voices in my head

And thus I appear with wakeful eyes

Trust insight
A tedious dramatic implant
Like swollen iron feeds itself,

Longing for the moon

Unbreakable and unborn

Sifting the contents of the surface
A ceremony of killers
A scorched $#&@ing snale


In postures of gold
That might be recognized

But as long as there are shelters
You'll always find yourself detained


A huge defenseless atmosphere
Wretched and toiled for centuries
Is ever so tender as long as we're alive

For it is with great wealth that I, declare this

Flapping wings, tired monster

Ruthless in folly frames
Attempting gaiety upon sinister forces
All within, we will win...