BLACK METAL & 80's POP
Story runs riot through the church and into the gardens inhabited by the local insects and to the flesh eating bacterial infection acquired in the sea while the boats were ripe with flashbacks and reminders of the distant darkness, I had decided to believe people are sweeping levels of control to perpetuate their own lack of heart, perpetrating a mindless serenade to conquer the savage lies told by the awakened ones, the ones who swoon the moon and believe in the birds and contemplate death monthly. It is not all bad. There is no cause for alarm. But the alarm is set, the emergency response was infiltrated by a burgeoning voice persistent on a maintenance request to trim the gardens and make them visible by destroying the landscape, as the previous remnant of a new vision was a harrowing landlord who gasped at the sunset languishing the breeze, suffocating thought -- no expression, no life. She is alive with her troubles - she, strives to attain a balanced piece of the puzzling maze, not the type of peace worked for, as the houses were empty and so were the sounds. A piercing vocal, lyrically content and there is nothing left to do but go, to THE BLACK LODGE. It is so Empty and Cold and not broken at all, nor damaged or saved. Healed but never stitched up nor from myself or by those I would not have tangled with, if only I knew anything at all. I read somewhere, we are a new entity every moment.
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