Слова:
Ana Kefr

Bathos and its dilettantes, bow down to the Iconoclast for it?s all been done before and I yearn to break the symmetry of you all. ?We but yen to suffocate

And the fifth trumpet sounded. Scab-peel diatribe. Process of cellular suicide, the beauty of mourning in nature. Prevent the onset of atrophy, reach

?There can be no true repose in a lie,? so wept the serpent, ?for there are parasites in the tree of life. Yet I will never be pacified without knowing

Bent beneath the weight of this pain, in my dying thirst you offered me poison. Your words are but nails to my feet. Now I comprehend the curse of those

death glorified, praising the hands that fasten tight upon your throats - and you choke.? In this, our hour of judgment, humanity is violently redeemed. Thena' Shaitan! Ana