Failure In Vanity My Bloody Valentine
Tis' the season of love and lust, but for this reason
death is a must. You partied, you danced. Quick to forget those who were now in
your past. Beneath the surface we were calmly unaware death would soon claim
our names. The scent of methane lingers in the air, now igniting my disgust
buried now in the darkest grave. Somehow I am surfaced, somehow I am saved.
Tortured now by thoughts of love, I rise to my feet, in uniform I stand. This
mask will show no emotion in a time of lust. This axe will carve, cut and
crush. One by one I claim their lives, butchering their hearts as a trophy of
my scars. You shall know suffering. You will all feel this pain. Never again
will you dance or parade. I have returned.
