Tight wrinkles in the void of these magicians, we bled for the cause and didn’t retreat in times of sadistic affliction. Men in iron coats sore high above the chambers, filled to the brim with lemmings that await their personal fates. They followed routine, and their works caused their minds to rot like strawberry jam. Who’s only purpose was to be spread on a piece of rye bread, this wasn’t how it was supposed to conclude. This wasn’t who they were destined to be, they pear into the dark night awaiting a savior. Who may bring the hope that they once had before this, before the time of great distress.
Contributor- Chris Ballenger