Here are the tentacles bursting forth with the disease, spawned entirely from the reflection of the human curse.
A vortex of malevolence governing over this mortal waste callously unearths the tortured faces of fear.
Nothing sounds more delightful than the aria of a frantic lament
erupting towards the absence.
Unleashing the darkest fatigue imaginable, coiling farther and farther away.
When the stars flung their blazing arrows
Drenching the skies with their plaguing tears
Did he smile at the sight of his work?
Reflecting his image 'pon your own
Evermore welding your mortal terrors
Fallen sculptures of world-weary macerations.
In the wake of eternity
Hearts will feed on the blood of lost saints
Their skinless brows will glare in the Sun!
Years of cosmic sighs
Full of loathsome wounds and cries
We the jesters of absolute, staging tragedies to amuse
The one whose applause we'll never hear.