A cavalcade of dead flesh and weak men will prosper so long as we accept the arid hells they build and suffice our young the same. Throats yawn and gleam red for God's love; a contradiction endorsed for the unblessed. Faith led amiss breeds sickened flocks of backward sheep hunting balanced wolves. Skies shade their way to black as pulp reigns and settings lack the purposed mind to dismiss its yellowed lies. They are the night - hate-ridden, color them black. Absolution commodifies, bringing riches to narcissists and autocrats who know nothing of the songs they sing; this is a cancer - a cheap gag for fearful men. Such excesses of ignorance form only agents of blight and doom - vicious details which should never content. Doomsayers, I say to you: May the piss of man warm your heart as it brings the blue to black and puts life to rest. May you learn to weep for man and not God, follower.