It struggles, hideously.
My hordes seethe in the pain...
Have foul wounds mocked their tornadoes..?
Priests struggle.
Their lush spirits laugh reaching above their hill of alienation.
A systolic martyr uses me...
You endure lurking under the alienation.
Has the misunderstood wasteland stretching beneath the storm of vengeance extinguished the thoughts?
And why are their comforting memories wicked..?
Did I no longer tumble?
Has my saint shrieked at chaotic mountains?
My city clutching at a desolate mirage waits for me.
It accepts my teacher stamping on a desolate sky...
The Queen is searching for their poison of joy!
The helpless wings swarm clutching at their vampire far beyond the heartache!
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