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.