The Seal of Sanity

Many lustfull luxuries, lustering so luciuosly, how many moons will fade before the sun? Can't you feel this longing jeweler, waiting for the lovely lunar, to eclipse the empty canvas holding none? Come fill the waiting piture, suture up the fissure, illuminate, whats dark and tiresome. It's freedom the will free him from, a picture that has fouled up, and rotted all that is this, inprsioned one. Without a jailer to realease it's spoiled, stagnant and complaiciant toil, pressure will result to fail the seal. Once this man is broken, he will search for wounds to open, within everything, and all the he can steal. For consiquince meens nothing, and heartache seems like stuffing, to a seething man who can no longer feel. Those who neglect this warning, will soon erect a mourning, within the wreckage of all they used to know. For he will spare no other, consuming souls benieth the cover, of the quilt that you and all the others sew. Be weary of wich cross you hold, its body might contain the mold, Imprisioned, with no jailer to be told.