From the unrelenting beat of a pounding drum. (Come anew). From the seizing breast of a wicked beast. (We survive). In the hallowed marriage of sound and revolt.
And when the underworld's. Best kept secrets. Saw it's own reflection. I knew things had finally changed. For better or worse. Whatever as always. . Midlife fires start to burn.
This morning there are no rods or staffs to comfort you. Dressed as a target as you amble in your chains. Stumble through the corridors that lead to our makeshift valley of death.