Possibly, unexpected
Allowing a Scorpion that
Of what we still don't know
And let it fall in sculptured blood
By the Swing of his scrotum

The Putatives Grade your pre-judging swoon
Overflowing bashfully to the view of a Shaved God
in the brutal Darkness of an abandonded Horse eye

A second Scissor obtains admission
over fivefolds of sorrow
and it wasn't just the Chaos
knitted like clothes
Then when a flaming creature did it
in the self-chosen dances of death
And the Darker ones lead
The Seraphs who hurriedly chase the sounds
To Keep back the thoughts of Bursting
A pissed Eel,
Whose effigy steps over the edge of the Abyss

No Flames reach me
and no one is already there
Where my death Discords with
an Enslaved toy base

No Nail Shadows tears through the stillness
Of my submissive return home
Yet, only to Directly sit itself on a shorter sword belt
Over the consumed shame of my darken ardor

Death Believes negligence instigates with vehemence
across the pale ashes that broods a ready to fry Love
and the once straight beam is now bent
and strapped to the wick no more

Aimless priest of sarcasm
Breeding a rich suffering
When they're walking naked
a raw species is rotting

Where Angels had once danced
and lied to the pale black
now sparrows fall down to the side
and explore deception with comic irony

Like needle stitches in Singularities
expired and prolonged in penance
There lies in cold the gardener of both races
And blights variables of
Dead necessity and space

But don't listen to me tomorrow
I can bring you the comforting proof
Could go down to the maternal dark
where dimness & chaos
judge heaven and earth

Even now where I adjoin the wick
Architeuthis princeps finds himself
On a Quest after the religious Satan
for a naive sin in a desolate accomodation

And when the child with the bloody mouth
Was denied the last kiss
It wasn't an answer to the last one

Fountain go to your Brother...
Then not a collar comes there of
Is he still red from the ice melting?

Why does the young copy have to like
the anomalies of a machine heart?

by now there are strange shadows
that move where once lonely foot steps
performed the dance that cried for heaven

I am not only a color
but lately 17 and 3
As the 11th will eventually die.

Time is brief and never longer
therefore I allow my shoulder to bury
and all my fingers line one by one
Then I can deny the black hole
and deeply fold in a chasity of insights

Next time we listen to your blood
and it results in the sin of my strangled sprat
as half watch the loud pitch laugh in your vicinity
And the evily humored temptation tarnish fruit-bearing Suicide
My saddle will skid no further into tomorrow
And in 1955 the dead will die in the infernal oblivion
of my own domain
However, we won't conquer like Erinnyen in page two
but rather stalk our soulless nature
in 3 shades of grey

To Caress a delusion sometimes causes a peculiar presence
which behaves how a deeply sunken razor would sound in blood
and consequently our echos let a glow in the breastless Bestiarium.

As my poisoned Shadows broke in two from the Zodiacal Light
and only further a displeased death of the struggling odoring
Shock of a horned blade in the perfection of Animalistic Lust
Decorating itself in a disgusting Vesture
Bacchanten Climbed Icy Abysses
yet, it won't Bring Forth the tender damnation
Necessity to breed is blinded by the Oviparious yearn for death.
And those not against God & Lucifer are suspicious
A dissolute force highhandedly requires danger
When Death Rings for several luckless Maids
Bluish Anarchy will instill over the Gates of Naked lust
Only an elder enrichment of the boiling-points to forgive my life
Will the Blasphemic Origin contribute to all the Graven Feet of the downfall.

Out of a watery devotion
In trinitious aspect awakened
Grants apple juice
To the disgusting duke
A strangely crying hereditary burden

To the bloody chainment
Of lust impregnated by Thanes
Dancing clothespins darken
A Rusty Mosaic
Upon quietly moving lips

And the leaking difference
In a permanently unloved wave
Fades in purgatory
Of the little death

Man dies like his water
And often Christ was buried
In a hilarious communion

May the once bent skull bone
Grow above the top of a lost knife

Even our terrestrially penalization in darkness
Strides unscared in the ruin of immaterialistic density

Sacred incest imitates Zoonosen in debility
As soon as the shallow places fatally interprete annoyed wasps

The seemingly dead undermine inactive cycles in decadence
As long as prohibited idiocy indiscretly exposes rear-view pictures

Tarely skulk inherent hermaphrodites their demons
But speak in provisional wrath amongst humility

Bekloppto Beknakkto, Seven Infernal Hellfirewinds of Flautz
And there three Bald-headed Blasphemies of No Role-playing-Games
Have rarely thought to themselves: Kiffsel, Kaffsel, Kuffsel

Yeah, what is it then?
Stinky-Cunt puked once in awhile
In a bucket of cats
And Satanic Sewing-Machines
The Evil Sausage sinking
Sank

When Childish Greasy Pizza
Picks at their hair
Fussy struggle horn and having a flat chest
To cause irrevelant blows of mayhem

When foul-toothed Dirk stinks out of his mouth
Biting flesh in the Land of Vertical
Smiles

Hellchrist Evil and Painfulness Kiss
Master of the six silver strings of hell
As well was a little bit unimportant
Sturmbas, the great countess of Eva
Wanted to stay in the bar in the little asshole
Fuck, fucked

The devil has sons

Lust refreshes itself on comforting pain
And sweat intermixes with the thirst
Of many others

I gave birth at the foot of the mirror
And uplifted my salted head
Which bedded in embers even cooled
With twisted tongue coincidence
...escaped