| Wings that have flown, For the sins of the past. Brought to the now, Cherubic black. |


PfiefferIt was a sad day, a day of woe and misery, a day of foiled plans and aspirations, a day of sad discoveries... You dont believe me? Ah, but you werent there to see it happen. The horror, the terror Ah but I digress. Clearly I remember it, the long dragging of the day like ruined claws of rusted steel across the fragile tapestry of my innocent and unmarked flesh sweet and soft as a babys bottom. And at the end of it, was it over? Nay my friend, for locked up was I within the most horrid of horrids, the most putrid of putrids, the foul, the accursed, the dreaded Tomb.Pfieffer
Still you do not believe me my frie


Tripartite MAh, but the fetters of faith do furl the sails, The baying, and breaking, and biting at nails. Howling to the hunger of want for escape, A death, a dream, to escape doom fate.Tripartite M
Thoughts of the past, too far behind, Of wishes and wants and days unkind. Wafers and wines, body and blood, Dreams of glory dashed to the mud.
Final of the fold, the closing of the cloth, Fallen to fury, saddled to sloth. Abbey monk of absinthian demise, Pondering of thoughts, the lost deep eyes.
The tick tock tocking is a tintinnabulation doom, The bong bong bonging is a

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a melodramatic confession of an artsy-fartsy.
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