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Echoes of The Angel's Fallen
Invocation to the Muse From the gleaming skin of life’s underbelly, sin unreconciled, formed from Nephilim seed, fleet footed jokers mask pawns into flight; To the epistle of the Most High. For in the beginning, the true and only God, In natural progression sheds His most prized adversary. Begin, now, that inspired frustration; Muse me, and amuse us, in thoughtful verse. Grant me parables upon hints of riddles, until all the verbs conjugate lustful, while nouns decline, creating the images of the was, the Immediate Fall. Where sex trumps love and words balled up in sweating inches of permission. Grant unto mind, spirit, and unto spirit, amperage, Pumped upped power and vociferous volume. Canto 1. From the inception, the field of vision, absolute, Freewill, unfettered, sought out speculative freeways. Onward, and only, allowing what IS Never what could never be. The seventh cycle, of restful viewing, As if The Word breathed, commanded the fractal voice, so then what all was quiet Spawned This. Yet looking openly, God spoke: Let There Be Me and greater shapes of things Those mindless ape-men: Jousting into sleepful wakes . All things seen and unseen Revelling the first night of the Grecian gods fortuitous indeed so wake of angels of gloom no one could ever construe or control a conspiracy against they all: the dogs of war tasty, face the Gods. United we see the truth so slippery; snakes seeking divination speak English well forcing lyrics, pushing in, pursuing into the womb of the New World Order. Play with me ,fencing me, with the function of fables, resplendent rules read of the fallen's hieroglyphs. I look north: lively virtue, swagger and pomp, Here comes the judge. Awed and mysterious, I listen to the rage of languages civil, to one person, The key to Egyptian glorious treasure: Calling out, I live in this query: What, in threats verbed and reverbed, do I wipe clean From under, early challenges? Secret rumors reveal me now, A champion undiverted, to Feast on a fortune, undeserved, A king's ransom, for this goddess, This 1500 years unstated, Fall of the Trickling of Will Insured within summaries of the fluid be wounds. The margin aligned, the aces flipped: Spread fingers over the velvet, And repossess digital reality. Love, the quintessence's force Unifying note, final note. To bring staggered songs into Sweet ice gliding Pride riding and quiet hiding. On the Fall's Eve, Rounded up and around were souls Satanic; Ever near evil, yet hovering most like Cherubim waffling in doubt, the music reigns coalescing Undaunted from dogmatic rules and regulations. From a second sun, one fragile and quivering, One dissonant tone, distorted, Steps forward, birthing sexy fun And pounding skins, the labor warranted: Born young and getting younger, The Rock. We all were Born to Run away. Canto 2. And so it began, 88 rockets to be sure To be of the rock and never to roll To penetrate and copulate. One must understand the needs of the human race, To procreate, as God has ordered, to go forth and multiply. What you love most, I want it all and I want It now. For there are victims, dead and dying, but the specifics are ordered. For the rhythm is true and 4/4 time to simulate the act, the act that makes the child who becomes the music to make the act again... And so we begin...such beauty in the ladies Taken skirts, inserting pants, because the rock is one steady roll And 12 bars put guts in the shirts and the knees and the feet So keeping in time with God It causes His motion the movement of the sound, the echo of the amplifier And heros put above the trinity and infusing idols, which were banned but only in word; The electricity trumps the word, more power, more volume. Even in the beginning, when there was only the Word, the Logos,the Logic. God knew, knows all, that this should be, and will be. Canto 3. Souls are imprinted with the muse, the movement of the sound, but more... The dance of the pagans: the power of the volume, all the volume of The Power. Now, outside the bubble, from the tree of knowledge, pulls the mind toward the Given joust, the army of the other, those who dont't believe in the One God The Son and the Spirit eternal, so obvious, that no one can see it. The battle began, and continues, as the satans come together each another’s vile smear on the record. Pinch, and decide the rules while plotting against one another. “There should be three, so as to spit on the Eye of the All Knowing, and these three should be the most sensual to tease the senses of the human scum.” The remaining stood and sat plotting their opposition, knowing under vicious jackals the seed within them, will rise up. “And these three are to them, who can’t see that which is right in front of them, the base impulses inbred and fermenting at the point of always, The others between, seek lies and generations to come, to call upon their own Stranded worries, to joust against, as is their mattyr... “We shall use the fornication and the lustful greasy sex, and that's what makes this town a mess... That humanity believes they are only worthy of, for it is their most guttural feeling. Upon reflection, a day’s worth of living their life of what is expected, leaves them in a Flat glob of what they really are: humping apes with no regard for anyone but themselves.” The nephiam laughed, in a knowing glow, sex is sex is sex. These Homosapien lot believe and pray to a god of the flesh, one that doesn't exist. “Next we will use and abuse, the wedge of doubt. To place a misgiving, a slight of hand, an apprehension into the day, to mold the day thoughts of these apes, these busybodies, not more appropriately, anthropoids. These simeons deduce a solution from limited information and decide if they can't count it, smell it or see it, it doesn't exist.
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