Move all cellos downstairs while the birds still sing. Let the piano cry in woe. Let us rise up in awe. The pool of snakes awaits you all. A midnight stellar concerto rises up again singing the forsaken song of worlds that are yet to come. But why do you stare at the starry sky? Why do you cry? Because of them sorrows lurking in deep. Lines lost in time. A rainbow of feelings circulates in my head. Last verse of love. Last song of disgrace. Pugna, Ulnus, Sepsis, Necrosis. The strings of the decayed violins of spitting storms I sing lies I breathe the harpsichord. This piece, magnificent as it is, dwells inside me night and day, earth and sky.
Drums, how I longed for you. But I still yearn for more
for through the years I have sworn to return to the Ever Free
back to the lands of Emphatica, where I had lives as many as the lies finding existence between us. What is this line? "La fin". OK, hear the choirs. They are calling us. This Chaos March dwells high above this plane, and into the Void, deep under the Trees (Yggrdassil and Nordrassil). Harmonica
the swaying orchestra of the purests of classics. The end of agonizing love
the start of the tormentors of worlds
music is the language of lonely sinners
but this curfew is what I call home, and, just like the nightingale that was trapped in the cage, it seems that I've long lost the will to fly again
and sing again. For a cathartic legacy comes into mind and spits out fiery flames of the past. The past is sung.