Black Sabbad

S-shrouded these narcoleptic trees by some unnoticed gale, shed their leaves unto a tarred land which encircles the s-silence of all those who...

would born dead for this Golgotha?


Muted birds tired of repeating yesterdays errors, huddle nowhere in the recess:

there does emerge a continental mist amidst and from the marsh that traces its way toward to cuddle the marblean feet of the mouthless hero's statue, whose only feat was shouting at the moon an' sun under the eye of HORANGEL.

Of Horangel.


In tune with the cathodes of the Ëarth, the svelte and long night begins yetstill.
And the still failing rain.