The irony of Death: looking through the eyes of the Lamb
The irony of Death: looking through the eyes of the Lamb
What does he see in You? The wealth of wrinkled age. The sin of being allowed to walk through the forests and jungles of debris and mayhem just to say, "I'm sorry, but I'm too old to mention You in my Book again this Christmas"? The old are growing in number, like rabbits to sheep. And I am growing tired, tired of this Apocalyptic life as Paul of mayhem and death. Where you are winter without summer. Where You are embers without defeat of the Death that haunts You.
What does he see in You? The wicked innocence directed by naivete's age under the shoe size that they wear in age limit. Their sins are being born into each breath as they awaken the chaos of life and reaffirmation of retribution, anxiety, even Death. Where repulsion and retribution are met with sprinkles of revolution and rebellion. Aren't I the singer Scorpio? Nay. I am the Titan, Capricorn.
Death clings to your prosperity in age and wisdom as it mothers and nurtures you into infamy. Am I the beacon of Hope? Nay. I am Ra. I am Exodia the Forbidden One. I am Obelisk the Tormentor. Forever Tormendable... Forever...
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