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Circle Of Dead Children
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When Human Compost Stains All Earth And Repels The Messengers Of Love
I hope to be there when the eggs of skepticism hatch and develop into superior bodies of free thought*
They hope to be there when the timbers split and bio-germ death decorates the skies like a thousand devils winking.
Anchor our hands.
Recapture our minds.
Salvation's rent is due and cerebral bankruptcy has been filed.
The potter's wheel has been re-invented and his products will never die.
The butcher's blade has been whet and his products were never alive.
So let the tree of previous knowledge fall and be the first to vacate the hive.
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