What is this darkness? Can I see it, in this blackness full of light? A dawn of wonder crying softly all the while. For in those dreams of succor, there stands an empty hollow, a haunting, callow dread upon his smile.
Fly in the darkness, fry in the light, sup upon the simple while it dances in the night. In dips and wander, tell and fall, let the cries echo through the gallows in the hall. So right, so raw, but thick undone, those fresh and callow, so calm begun. But while and willow, these fawns of one, they trip and tremble, through webs once spun.
That which sups upon the wretched singularity of the soul and gibbers unsated, slathering beyond redemption among voracious gullets of woe, seeking to consume every vestige of complacent acceptance until only oblivion remains. And as that creeping, insidious ivy grasps and claws, rending thought and will asunder, naught but confusion reigns where once supreme and permanent wisdom wrought transcendent equilibrium before the sack of time forgotten and unsung.
Hey Congress? Fuck every last one of you worthless shit-eating cock-mongers and the crippled, tumor-riddled horse you raped to the tune of Let the Good Times Roll while simultaneously flipping off a bus of nuns with a composite hand constructed entirely from freshly butchered kitten heads.