Bleed for the maggot inside them
He is their lie
He is breathless bestial enchantment
They are the walking prison of angels
Shall they continue to seek passage to a modern life?
Shall they continue to speak until one of us lacerates their wings?
We are the indigo beast
An anamorphic calibration of black magick
Light ingested, night desensitized
He is sentimental waste
In the middle of a wasted century
He is the sentimental wasteland
Obsolete foundation
His invasion will awaken
To release their sacred secret light
Dream to dismember his lies
So they can seek Heaven
The sacred seat of never
Shall they continue to seek passage to a modern life?

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