There will be blood.
Of which our spirits were lassoes
Drawing together the wounds of a thousand years into one delicious abomination.
Of which our teeth were sharpened knives
Tearing the virgin flesh of innocents like butchers in glee.
And the sound of screams are music to our darkened hearts
It hurts us not to sow catastrophe—for we seek blood.
Blood alone is a song
It sings as only nothing else can
From the blood of Abel to the blood of us
It is the ultimate ecstasy.
But now that we have razed down the earth
There will be blood,
The blood of us drunk from the pit of our skulls.
Until the end of time
There still will be blood.
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