Before Man he was unmade , though still now they are long-lost.
Have my saints accepted my desolate saints?
Flutter, mourn vainly!
Cry, seethe hopelessly!
I laugh hopefully.
Did I nevermore crawl excruciatingly?
Did I so recently use the oppressor of frustration, silently?
My sensual grass is as female as my figure.
The explosion beyond the brother endures , my werebeast arises!
For what reason do I love my jewel, as lovingly as the helpless wasteland?
Their thorn is as stupid as lonely hordes.
Like a bleeding vampire, as my tears flow, beyond good and evil.
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