To the Gates of Chill

Even to the realm of silence I follow. To primordial chaos The specious zany follows. Seemingly myopic, my sepulchral glare. Beware! Of conning eyes you raider of fulfilled rapture. I hound the hooded hound for my demi-soul. Adonis for Aphrophone walks plutonian deeps. Though, I come, futility behind scourges with strikes of dejection. Yet, on void grounds I push to limbo being met by wan faces, wry creatures. I fear that perchance the blazing pecan is ripe for reaping Will you succumb? Aphrophone!