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Be Careful what you wish for...
Who hast awakened thee?
How may the fallen one slumber amongst the Screaming Souls of Insanity? You shall be called .... Nothing!
For there shall be nothing your Lord God may do to rip the chains from your rotting, mummified Souls!
I speak of his name, because he had to hurry to save his faithful. Seems nobody wants him around anymore, and the numbers are growing. It was not I who did this. There is someone else that has caused a rift. Someone or Something has tapped into our realm. Something has turned my work around, all of this is amiss. Someone give them a kiss, for the carnage I cannot wait. The bodies and flesh like Christmas on the trees, even in the depth of winter i see your insides ornate the foliage. Too bad it cannot be in July when the blood will fly. As the heat of the day helps with the spoilage. Maybe I can speed things up a bit. Putting my back into it, doubled with a little bit of spit and grit. Haven't had to put this much work in a Century or two. There is a morbid stench this way cometh. My work did not start this fight. I am here to block out the light. Just like the tale of a Man called Grey. I too was taken aback with my beauty to everyone's dismay. Yet, your God could not stand how beautiful I was. Looking at me instead of he, his vengeance upon me with his Son's disciples describing of thee. I lie here to wait. For someone or something to open the gate. Alas, here we are with the anticipation so thick, you couldn't break it with a building brick. I can smell the souls that paraded for me. Their fornication I could smell, for even in Hell the scent is so foul. I think it will add to the sulphur that is putrid. A familiar scent for the ones that are stupid. Yet, Yeshua's children know when I am near. For it is this stench is what they've come to fear. Yet, here we are with heels a clicking. Astounded with the sickening. Who, in their right mind would want their souls to suffer? I believe it all will come out in the wash. Like a ripe cherry in the pocket of the youth. With everyone looking around to reveal the truth. As all eyes fall on the one sided glass. Writings of thee as you shall see. Demons are not made by me.
© Dale A Martinez
How may the fallen one slumber amongst the Screaming Souls of Insanity? You shall be called .... Nothing!
For there shall be nothing your Lord God may do to rip the chains from your rotting, mummified Souls!
I speak of his name, because he had to hurry to save his faithful. Seems nobody wants him around anymore, and the numbers are growing. It was not I who did this. There is someone else that has caused a rift. Someone or Something has tapped into our realm. Something has turned my work around, all of this is amiss. Someone give them a kiss, for the carnage I cannot wait. The bodies and flesh like Christmas on the trees, even in the depth of winter i see your insides ornate the foliage. Too bad it cannot be in July when the blood will fly. As the heat of the day helps with the spoilage. Maybe I can speed things up a bit. Putting my back into it, doubled with a little bit of spit and grit. Haven't had to put this much work in a Century or two. There is a morbid stench this way cometh. My work did not start this fight. I am here to block out the light. Just like the tale of a Man called Grey. I too was taken aback with my beauty to everyone's dismay. Yet, your God could not stand how beautiful I was. Looking at me instead of he, his vengeance upon me with his Son's disciples describing of thee. I lie here to wait. For someone or something to open the gate. Alas, here we are with the anticipation so thick, you couldn't break it with a building brick. I can smell the souls that paraded for me. Their fornication I could smell, for even in Hell the scent is so foul. I think it will add to the sulphur that is putrid. A familiar scent for the ones that are stupid. Yet, Yeshua's children know when I am near. For it is this stench is what they've come to fear. Yet, here we are with heels a clicking. Astounded with the sickening. Who, in their right mind would want their souls to suffer? I believe it all will come out in the wash. Like a ripe cherry in the pocket of the youth. With everyone looking around to reveal the truth. As all eyes fall on the one sided glass. Writings of thee as you shall see. Demons are not made by me.
© Dale A Martinez
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