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The singing rotted chimeras, of the oozing blood church Sing their disemboweled hymns, as the somber bell chimes to the dead Along the pews are dried blood bibles, words of horror and sorrow Written by men who thought to play God, and reap the values of the meek As the suicide clocks strike their hands, and the blood soaked ravens take their flight The blackened sun sets on the streets of acid, and the blissful dread plays as a music box
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Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC
On The Words of the Leviathan
The singing rotted chimeras, of the oozing blood church Sing their disemboweled hymns, as the somber bell chimes to the dead Along the pews are dried blood bibles, words of horror and sorrow Written by men who thought to play God, and reap the values of the meek As the suicide clocks strike their hands, and the blood soaked ravens take their flight The blackened sun sets on the streets of acid, and the blissful dread plays as a music box
An old poem I wrote one evening when it was raining heavily, and the news was playing softly on the tv
astralcw
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Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC
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