Black clouds shun the light. The garden set aflame. A serpentine tongue presents a new path leading to my heart's own keepsake.
As silence envelopes every ounce of flesh and useless eyes are cast away.
Peeling back the skin to expose one last short breath. This addiction has given me sight.
Emanations of the spirit discharge from this worn shell to find a way through the haze and into the sky.
The blood of lost time trickles down the back of my throat while my ears bleed from the whispers echoing inside my head.
A great storm is brewing. The winds of Sarion are crashing. Threatening to tear down your walls of lore. Take your shelter for the dead the travel fast and the voices never lie. This persistence of life has become an element of my keepsake.
I know every demon by name. Taking my hand leading me into the flames.