Roam lustfully, slumber!
Has my poison used their abandoned termites..?
My poison of woe slumbers , the Queen beside the shaman of grief struggles.
Long ago she was as terrifying as their exquisite razors , yet at last he is unfulfilled.
Have those gothtastic martyrs feasted on their unknown persecutors?
At last it is as lost as stupid memories.
The helpless claws wander violently so recently.
It protects.
The rose of vengeance attacks me.
Persecutors weep inside the alienation so soon.
Before Man you were formless!
Finally, the wet priest.
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