The regent roads to nowhere; the end of the world.
“This is the first pulse we get, this is the first breath we take; This is the last pulse we get, this is the last breath we take…”
The search of our everything (chapter one); We find ourselves mislaid with our trembling porous wings and yet again we find nothing to seek for, no demands to disarm those times from our cave-in, every chapel's poles are lapsed and grounded on this very yard. Under the peals of gliding chorals we hear their strident euphony fade to its abiding dormancy. And we breathe as blink the seconds of our collapse. The saying to pray for our lives is passing by with ignorant sonority, slowly distil our woe tears into collection of wounds inhaling the mass of mourning days. The reddish sky is reflecting our image, we are almost bowing to ourselves kneeling so low we are reveling the shapeless sin they squalled; "The converged above, from the cloudy haze of the building walls to the stairway leading skyward, this is truly the end of all nights." And the city began to witness the extinction of our crooning voices growing dim. On the same minute as I saw the plane burst into the sky, it came crashing down. As the mechanical mind spoke its last words I heard the distress signal peal 'till the echo became soundless to all ears...
Hist! The closure became our landscape (chapter two); The moment of every sunless dawn is now the deafen memorial of how we yield to our downcast steps towards the endless vacancy. We went out from everything and now we are slowly becoming the dust of our boundless nothing. We dredge the clarity, this only lit we are, the second straw we pull is shorter than the other, and now its faint light through the shutters is cascaded into the hourglass of our last breath, envisaged for the last tick to strike we now covert our respiration.
The beauty nest on fire (chapter three); And the gray stone walls are pointing at the flaming skyscrapers burning our lines, the lonely highway between the cities is verily the skyline in mute diluting the chancel with swelling drones. Under the high arch the halo stood above our heads. And they carved their wings with the inky feathers falling from the dead. And with a lament sigh we bow to the abandoned; "Mothers and daughters, fathers and sons; farewell."
“They darkened the doorway and the city felt lost in its pall… and the billboards were all glassy on their highest mounds; The regent roads to nowhere.”
The howling awe crept up with innocent midsummer flames (chapter four); The quiescent dune has never been this close to the ascent of the low. "This is not all right, and it only gets worse." We are counting the tragedies but they overflow our fingers, the numbers are crowned with sallow prospect as we filter the story of life. Watching how our vast array grows thinner every split second, we are delving the mourn with our stricting actions. By any harmony there's a quire giving sounds to our epic sore, and on top of all zenith's there's a burning flag reaching its horizon, but the scorching blaze is raying to its pillars. Quench the flaring sky crossing the daisy miles, and they flew the longest canal by wafting every glen as they sang for us the melody of the end.
The maverick's sentence we'll cite (chapter five); "Our concrete days are over, we plinth ourselves below, we faced and bled the grower, and the starring turns aren't breathing for us to glow."
The minute after tomorrow (chapter six); The past is full of half written letters, and the tomorrow pursues for the brighter half. We are still waiting for our embryo, but this is the end of all roads. With our palms bathing in tears and for our daydreams to lodge we stretch our tarry hands upwards and supplicate with promising words. But the remembrance is patterning with trebles; "They sharp the highest tones and chant their loudest screams. We see them wheel above mapping the landscape from their cavernous drowse... and it keeps on getting worse." This is a world shaped in symmetry, self-portrait with the shoreless sea. This is the futile poem of the low halting towards our swarthy existence. We anchored our feet and winged our movement to the oncoming gravel, our inky feathers are curving down the thick beginning, where it all commenced and will now conclude; Hearts were born to cease beating. "Where the sea lays now was once the lot of our garden, our home is the voyage hovering in the blue."
The bleak vocalise's foiling in every alpha (chapter seven); The vow was pierced in the nape of its neck by our own daggers, we wheeze the seaward night and connive at the column holding our framed remains. We rave the words; "Where is the love? Where is the justice?" But the non-existent won't render its retort. overnight we'll lull our voices in the soft utopia's verity and cover our song under the aslant streetlights. The narrative's framer is faceless; "We didn't have the time to say goodbye, except to ourselves… I heard them sing for us. I embraced the inconstancy, I saw them lance my smile throughout the seaward roof of heaven, and then we all knew it was time to leave the standing havoc and let our runny hearts coalesce into one."
“Dear mater; Give me a second pulse, the first one is gone…”
...The next chapter is in ruin...
The search of our everything (chapter one); We find ourselves mislaid with our trembling porous wings and yet again we find nothing to seek for, no demands to disarm those times from our cave-in, every chapel's poles are lapsed and grounded on this very yard. Under the peals of gliding chorals we hear their strident euphony fade to its abiding dormancy. And we breathe as blink the seconds of our collapse. The saying to pray for our lives is passing by with ignorant sonority, slowly distil our woe tears into collection of wounds inhaling the mass of mourning days. The reddish sky is reflecting our image, we are almost bowing to ourselves kneeling so low we are reveling the shapeless sin they squalled; "The converged above, from the cloudy haze of the building walls to the stairway leading skyward, this is truly the end of all nights." And the city began to witness the extinction of our crooning voices growing dim. On the same minute as I saw the plane burst into the sky, it came crashing down. As the mechanical mind spoke its last words I heard the distress signal peal 'till the echo became soundless to all ears...
Hist! The closure became our landscape (chapter two); The moment of every sunless dawn is now the deafen memorial of how we yield to our downcast steps towards the endless vacancy. We went out from everything and now we are slowly becoming the dust of our boundless nothing. We dredge the clarity, this only lit we are, the second straw we pull is shorter than the other, and now its faint light through the shutters is cascaded into the hourglass of our last breath, envisaged for the last tick to strike we now covert our respiration.
The beauty nest on fire (chapter three); And the gray stone walls are pointing at the flaming skyscrapers burning our lines, the lonely highway between the cities is verily the skyline in mute diluting the chancel with swelling drones. Under the high arch the halo stood above our heads. And they carved their wings with the inky feathers falling from the dead. And with a lament sigh we bow to the abandoned; "Mothers and daughters, fathers and sons; farewell."
“They darkened the doorway and the city felt lost in its pall… and the billboards were all glassy on their highest mounds; The regent roads to nowhere.”
The howling awe crept up with innocent midsummer flames (chapter four); The quiescent dune has never been this close to the ascent of the low. "This is not all right, and it only gets worse." We are counting the tragedies but they overflow our fingers, the numbers are crowned with sallow prospect as we filter the story of life. Watching how our vast array grows thinner every split second, we are delving the mourn with our stricting actions. By any harmony there's a quire giving sounds to our epic sore, and on top of all zenith's there's a burning flag reaching its horizon, but the scorching blaze is raying to its pillars. Quench the flaring sky crossing the daisy miles, and they flew the longest canal by wafting every glen as they sang for us the melody of the end.
The maverick's sentence we'll cite (chapter five); "Our concrete days are over, we plinth ourselves below, we faced and bled the grower, and the starring turns aren't breathing for us to glow."
The minute after tomorrow (chapter six); The past is full of half written letters, and the tomorrow pursues for the brighter half. We are still waiting for our embryo, but this is the end of all roads. With our palms bathing in tears and for our daydreams to lodge we stretch our tarry hands upwards and supplicate with promising words. But the remembrance is patterning with trebles; "They sharp the highest tones and chant their loudest screams. We see them wheel above mapping the landscape from their cavernous drowse... and it keeps on getting worse." This is a world shaped in symmetry, self-portrait with the shoreless sea. This is the futile poem of the low halting towards our swarthy existence. We anchored our feet and winged our movement to the oncoming gravel, our inky feathers are curving down the thick beginning, where it all commenced and will now conclude; Hearts were born to cease beating. "Where the sea lays now was once the lot of our garden, our home is the voyage hovering in the blue."
The bleak vocalise's foiling in every alpha (chapter seven); The vow was pierced in the nape of its neck by our own daggers, we wheeze the seaward night and connive at the column holding our framed remains. We rave the words; "Where is the love? Where is the justice?" But the non-existent won't render its retort. overnight we'll lull our voices in the soft utopia's verity and cover our song under the aslant streetlights. The narrative's framer is faceless; "We didn't have the time to say goodbye, except to ourselves… I heard them sing for us. I embraced the inconstancy, I saw them lance my smile throughout the seaward roof of heaven, and then we all knew it was time to leave the standing havoc and let our runny hearts coalesce into one."
“Dear mater; Give me a second pulse, the first one is gone…”
...The next chapter is in ruin...