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Indigo is the gaunt damp face of the still-born messiah. With crude-oil cappillary flush like mottled blush On Treblinka cheek bones. On cold steel autopsy table, It's topsy turvy shrine, A halogen lamp halo hums and sways Over It's holy rolling head. Unsavory savior, the pundit spared It's pageant. With blackhole pupils pierced and seeping Vitreol fluid like the weeping Virgin's tears, Carving termite trails in their wake. It trembles, gasps, and quakes With the knowledge of futility. All that was and all that will Successively unsuccessfully. A parade of steel tables on blood spattered conveyer belt, Pulled to the symphony of six billion bellowed pleas for salvation, Through tattered curtains to uncertainty.
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Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
We Are The Still-born Messiah
Indigo is the gaunt damp face of the still-born messiah. With crude-oil cappillary flush like mottled blush On Treblinka cheek bones. On cold steel autopsy table, It's topsy turvy shrine, A halogen lamp halo hums and sways Over It's holy rolling head. Unsavory savior, the pundit spared It's pageant. With blackhole pupils pierced and seeping Vitreol fluid like the weeping Virgin's tears, Carving termite trails in their wake. It trembles, gasps, and quakes With the knowledge of futility. All that was and all that will Successively unsuccessfully. A parade of steel tables on blood spattered conveyer belt, Pulled to the symphony of six billion bellowed pleas for salvation, Through tattered curtains to uncertainty.
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Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
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