Mutilation

 

The ghostword loomed behind nature

 

Like dust of the atmosphere

My obligations are undarkened

I span the toolshed providing Lion the fundamental gear

When I’m in there I teach them despair

Arizel takes me away from Arindhara to the forest,

Her icy kiss sustained on my lips

We phantom the dying skies.

 

 

Vasitven sold the river of life

The Lion went to the Toolshed

The Lion was a traitor of the forest

Toiling in the toolshed when he sells his soul,

I give him a new Ghostword to behold

They who are alive there,

Their smells decompose behind his spine

 

 

These sufferings I beset the toolshed,

Are not judged by the worker’s mistakes

But by how they face dementia,

When on them Ghostwords befell

The army of Arizel is always ahead

My power surges in their abodes

Bloodshed they keep in control

 

 

I rip the brains of the black animals

And barrage them with ghostwords

Who don’t think I’ am real are Arindharans

When I want to play nostalgia,

Springing from the light

Arizel catches Shrusim on the staircase,

And we enjoy the never-ending frey.

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