The eternal bloodline of the covenant beckons all lost souls to this salvation. Come, ye forbearers of the dark realms, come unto this apocalyptic landscape. Death seeks you in this clarion cinema of soul. Toiling hard, did you seek the wealth strewn in the abyss, soaked with blood? There, you see the tears of blood gently coming down by the eyes of a crucified corpse. You can see the insects infesting the hollow that once were one so dear to your heart. Feel that blood as the sacrifices sought.
An ominous predicament
The altars of this unforgiving realm must keep paying. The great emptiness of the coffin must claim the fated ones. The machine must turn and keep turning, for the show must go on. This eternal battleground of the harvest of flesh keeps seeking the dark freedom of the Lord. That day, when the sun will turn dark as in night and the moon shall bleed ominous. A day of terror and love is waiting to become.
The raging inferno of the cathedral reminded the dark warriors of the glory of Him. That seething rage of eons also seeks the ashen peace of the end. As the flames compete to leap higher and higher, let the infernal glow illumine the dark truth. Will there be any papal inquest to this event? Perhaps there is one, a Judgment that is underway for ages.
The Command of the Reverse Cross
Who can face that sword coming down? Hail to thee, O Great destroyer, the King of Horror. Come, come ye mighty warriors of this cult of death. Gather in these hallowed plains for the great slaughter to commence. The dark agents of these lowlands can smell the blood in the air. It is a thing to fear. Do you find it hard to carry through? Whose debts do you carry? What makes you heavy? Tormented by the grip of flesh, the scream sears into those feeble hearts, hiding beneath the denial of death. Let the truth brand the debts of death on them, gripped in an inevitable frenzy.
In this devastating dream, seeking some kind of a form, you can hear those whispers. You wake up in the middle of a nightmare, tormented by what can never be. Looking for answers, you must know whom to blame. A crucified messiah cannot save himself. Ah, the torment that came down is purifying. The blood of carrying betrayal spurted like infernal paintings with each swish of the whip endured. Stand strong on your ground and carry your cross. Speak, shout, and scream of the pain of knowing the truth all the time.
What remains now is that long night to behold by the crackling woods at the hearth. How many times did you ever wish that this night to never end? Wandering in this misty wood of underworld, are you the one who waited for the dawn, suppressing the curses under your lips? Seek your place in this landscape in the legacy of God Seed bloodline. The seed planted becomes a tree, nurtured with blood, sweat, and potion from rotting carcasses.
Music of a thirsty night
Let not the surreal overtone baffle you to believe that it means nothing. You know that there can be nothing more real than the music that holds you to your place. To realize who or where you really belong, and then to fortify that sense of belonging, that is how you know that it is true. It is that surge of blood and debt that must come through. Is the violence only apparent? It can as well be a shrewd ploy to conceal the fears of doom. Then again, the concealed and denied are but the hardest realities of a reversed truth, the order of the Antichrist dictates. As the pale evening wanes into a thirsty night, let the musical horses run into that place where the bravest of the bravest come face to face.
Demons are always personal, friends of the revengeful, they are. Who are you then? Perched high on the wings of dark tunes, you get to know if you are one of flesh or one of the Dark Soul. Those dark chains can hold only the ones who denied their debts. There, even there is the price that must come through by the sacrificial blood. The laws governing these realms are merciless in execution.
The Lord sets them to place, engraves them onto the heart of His lost sons and daughters. The bloodline of the covenant must redeem this great payment. Even the ones put to task received forgiveness. The firmament wept in blood rain when the cross was put up on Golgotha. The scream that went up tore the fabric of trust adorning him once. Now crucified, the blood seeped through the wood into the dark ground. There was that story only the seers and prophets could comprehend. An anecdote suppressed into the night with deception waits to unfold as the ancient blood thirst reveals once again, in music yet unheard.