Untitled

"The cold winter breeze brings out the demon that lives in sin with the treacherous widow of the fallen sun.

The painful shrieks of the widow fill the starry night as the moon begins to shine down beckoning the preacher to rise above.

 The ode to the martyr sung beautifully as the ears bleed from the night passed.

His own personal hell, blazing beneath the feet of the starving angel.

 The scent of fear, the ignorance of the virgin, consumed a lavish feast for the undead.

The saint surrenders the halo for lust. An angel is born in the house of the devil.

A pitcher of dust, a jar of locusts, the fight is over and the war has begun."