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.: Энциклопедия » T » Thy Light » Suici.De.Pression
I Am The Bitter Taste Of Gall

I contemplate the decaying force of the forged nature, that i have been forced to admire. None of this is more special then a bitter draft at sunrise.

I am just flesh attached to bones that serve no other purpose, other than rotting;

The beauty of everything that has ever yearned to be beautyful is just makeup on existentialist dross;

I am the bitter taste of gall that circulates in the veins of those who still consider the eternal penitence a godly gift.

All your idols are dead, they died in vain, what for?


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