Sunday, February 4, 2007

Retribution
The rise of infinity has drawn the world into a closed circle.
The door isn`t very far from the statues, may i take your coat?
Welcome to the playground of the detered dementia.
Travel through out the corridors, our selection of dimension is adhering.
The endless hallways make our world seem listless, so much work to be done in preperation for the banquet's arrival.

The way time has programmed the systimatical fountain is not without fault.
Dreams cast aside stripped off the wallpaper, behind it's careful varage lies the words of the clerics.
Do you believe in nightmares of the worst breed?
Our manor must host the banquet in your honor, welcome to our manor.
We raise our glasses to you.
May despair withold the pain ensured for your fleeting glance.
You drive my paitence.

The echoes run of these walls like flying water what brings you to our damned manor?
What sorrows do you hold dear within the soul of your blue painted ideals?
To many questions however a maiden continues to sing her voice playing into smoke rising from the wayside table.
Quiet down, your screams scare the chained hopes in the basement of our manor.
Chants in hushed whisper as the violinist occupies his barren seat playing sorrow and danger on his beloved instrument of candence. Who ripped it's strings out? Can you say?

Acts of pride and crimson liquor dance the pages of our library,
deliver forth our guest of honor for do not the candles burn for your presence?
Open the door to the left, the joker of damnation juggles the worlds of multitude in his fleeing grasp.
My, my your face seems to be shocked, do not fear my fragile guest for your soul will be layed bare before prying eyes.
For such a banquet is held only for those that are special, feel honored to be mine.

Dry those tears that fall to stain the foul smelling tapestries, love is a crime and this manor is our playground of darkness.
Let this night beyond the wizard's window stain and paint dreams overlapped with sin on the flesh.
Dry your cynical tears and face the exit of the manor before you, do you wish to end this sorrowful dance of dread?
Or if you wish to be captive hold out that warm palm and grasp this dead man's soul within the grasp of reality
Do you wish to awaken the pain within this fading flame?

Distress is the splendid whispers of emotion gliding through and through such as knives and shards upon the heavy burden of master Judas in the southern tower.
Must I repeat this futile call oncemore to the silence?
The construction this unheavenly place is ulitimate, despair at every corner fear in ever step true calling falling into the dankness of our manor.
I take a drag of the already lit cigarette, drawing in the aroma I take pleasure in destroying yet another pure child

Such listless existence, only cynisism left in the depths of this hollow heart to clearly hear the pin drop.
Conquesting movement rythmic only for your accord?
I treasure yet hate however this a pale paint brush stroke upon your canvas.
To find this odd love and learn of its secret.

Flow upon the diameter, oh crimson liquor tear the seams of what is reality.
The bell chimes, twlight is at hand.
The horrors of the night are to cease soon as this charade will rest in the weary morn.
The golden book of fullfillment will turn it's pages of unushered innocence and blind you to this never-ending banquet, to these rooms of lurking secrets, to this empty heart.

We raise our glasses to you in toast.
There is the door through which you came, marelle...such sweet sorrow to part in this isntant, for we shall never meet again.
You drive my paitence, here is your coat.
My last message: This manor welcomes loss for this is your retribution.


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