The Sea Of Blood, Poetry For The Homesick Nomad

Throughout destruction, only creation will follow the Lord of The Damned. Death and decay lays adjacent to our very chamber, yet due to our subconscious and it's manipulation, we will never realize enough to actually care. Exhale a mockery, while standing within stolen energy of the controlled flame; No care is within the destruction. We rot away as our essence disperses into simple molecules, but still the foundation of old time trembles, and cracks under the sheer force of a malicious core. 5 crows land upon us as symbolic inevitable decay, or the antichrist absorbing our atoms. Inhaling and then drowning in the form of its own creation. The only ones who survived, were the ones birthed below the current. As the burial of the cleansed soul rested upon the waves, the Nomad remembers where his last destination was. The frequency of a bubbles burst, and the explosion of flesh that rains down upon sand. Welcome To The Sea Of Blood.