Silence! every possible variety of figure and configuration.
Silence! the air is full of you, the earth and the sea, and the lowest subterranean depths.
Silence your multiple heads! Silence the deafening hiss of serpents covering the murmur of the dead.
See the Accused - ably has he built his reality, schemes his planet graveyard. Solar systems of dust, disease, falseness, and blood. Ably Heresy as his own black image enthroned. For he has become the tomb of his sons ~ the grave of time.
As mankind sheds skin to wear the night and naked horror, and the voice of the black earth echoes from within their hearts: now night lives in their souls in the bright summer day, and laughter is strained by terror, voices h***se with false prayer.
Quemadmodum et s****a nonnulli forum emittunt et vermes quondam s****ate procreate.
The secret of their life is this: The root of their tree is bitter, its branches are death, its shadow, hatred.
A trap is in its leaves, its blossom is bad ointment. Its fruit is death, desire is its seed, and it blossoms in darkness.
The dwelling place of those who taste of it is the underworld, and darkness this resting place, for this is what has been told.
Fueled by temporary lives the eternal death grows from before the birth of time to reach beyond the end of it.
Quemadmodum et s****a nonnulli forum emittunt et vermes quondam s****ate procreant.
Like insects their souls flutter, swarms of beetles and flies drawn by storm winds into the very depths of their creator. Tzimtzum reversed in the flash of the blade.
Worlds crumbled and skies collapsed, stars wiped out, guardians released.
And when the strength of the Plague had consumed all provisions and the wretched God needed more food, this grieving malady began to tear his limbs and rip (?) them apart with his own teeth and by consuming his own body, fed himself void again.
And on the final day the graves were opened and none rose therefrom.
Silence! the air is full of you, the earth and the sea, and the lowest subterranean depths.
Silence your multiple heads! Silence the deafening hiss of serpents covering the murmur of the dead.
See the Accused - ably has he built his reality, schemes his planet graveyard. Solar systems of dust, disease, falseness, and blood. Ably Heresy as his own black image enthroned. For he has become the tomb of his sons ~ the grave of time.
As mankind sheds skin to wear the night and naked horror, and the voice of the black earth echoes from within their hearts: now night lives in their souls in the bright summer day, and laughter is strained by terror, voices h***se with false prayer.
Quemadmodum et s****a nonnulli forum emittunt et vermes quondam s****ate procreate.
The secret of their life is this: The root of their tree is bitter, its branches are death, its shadow, hatred.
A trap is in its leaves, its blossom is bad ointment. Its fruit is death, desire is its seed, and it blossoms in darkness.
The dwelling place of those who taste of it is the underworld, and darkness this resting place, for this is what has been told.
Fueled by temporary lives the eternal death grows from before the birth of time to reach beyond the end of it.
Quemadmodum et s****a nonnulli forum emittunt et vermes quondam s****ate procreant.
Like insects their souls flutter, swarms of beetles and flies drawn by storm winds into the very depths of their creator. Tzimtzum reversed in the flash of the blade.
Worlds crumbled and skies collapsed, stars wiped out, guardians released.
And when the strength of the Plague had consumed all provisions and the wretched God needed more food, this grieving malady began to tear his limbs and rip (?) them apart with his own teeth and by consuming his own body, fed himself void again.
And on the final day the graves were opened and none rose therefrom.