Like a swarm of maggots that inhabit a victim of death, they feed on your attentiveness with an unfulfilled hunger that begs satisfaction, but never receives such mercy. Blood, so ruby and vermillion has bound itself to the confines of earth's hellish soils. It pours freely from the blistered lips of those who were forsaken, and is renewed by guillotine eyes that cut and stab through even the thickest fog of emotion and what others may label as 'satanic'. These creatures of madness originate from the desolate womb of the people that indulge in the wines of insanity, impregnated by the four who listen and see that which infinite minds are oblivious to: they are Disturbed...we ALL are Disturbed. As the animals rise to the threatening light of fire and sun, the shadows quickly beckon their retreat, for their figures are unfamiliar and senile to the eyes and ears of the uninfected...but it all changes when the sickness strangles their mentality and leaves the corpse in a thick heap of abandoned innocence and rejuvenated perspective. It radiates a controlling pulse that says, "To conform is to die." There is primarily inhumanity in the human race, and what is created is condemned to divided parties: it is a pulse that controls us. Oh, where has the immunity fled to in these times of loneliness and confinement?
I beg, I plead, I DEMAND an escape, and if there is none, one shall be salvaged from the wreckage of the damned. For what is life without death? What is sanity without insanity? What is creation without destruction? Nothing, I tell you. It simply IS: meaningless and full of sameness. The ones who lurk in the darkness have finalized their distress....the Lost Children have awoken...