I am ignorance.
Dear Death
The seasons have change. And so has the tide of war.
it is time you grow out of your skin... and forget about your stem.
The Appointment of your presence was finally brought upon a young....
The visage of iron entered his skin, traveling out of the red body
and stopped in a wall filled with hate.
The hole was really a red book, from his birth... to his death,
his memory lovers than wondered where he disappeared.
At that time, he fell to the cold rocks... slowly watching it wane
Among the color of red.
The rocks malformed into black clouds.
Grass is now empty space... moreover the life of humanity is now spent.
The infantile man looked upon his corpse. He incoherent two or three words...
And finally took the flight of steps to the sky above ours.
Discharge of the blood finally settled in, a fresh stone looked into the firmament.
"The words upon it whispered"
"this is my battle ground, this is my grave.
The war is nothing but civil, please assent my rifles cross the threshold and in the hands.
Of god."
Our sun subsequently felt melancholy. The Vicissitude of the sea changed with silence. No individual was at this juncture.
Apart from his flying heart, inside the minds of his remembrance lovers...
However he now rests... with his contacts of adoration and confrontation.
"Why is this brought upon bereavement?
So many questions unearth us suitable recluses
Nothing now to do but just remain...
To the upcoming....
From a man with a unhinged heart and vein.
Élan O’ Ender.
The seasons have change. And so has the tide of war.
it is time you grow out of your skin... and forget about your stem.
The Appointment of your presence was finally brought upon a young....
The visage of iron entered his skin, traveling out of the red body
and stopped in a wall filled with hate.
The hole was really a red book, from his birth... to his death,
his memory lovers than wondered where he disappeared.
At that time, he fell to the cold rocks... slowly watching it wane
Among the color of red.
The rocks malformed into black clouds.
Grass is now empty space... moreover the life of humanity is now spent.
The infantile man looked upon his corpse. He incoherent two or three words...
And finally took the flight of steps to the sky above ours.
Discharge of the blood finally settled in, a fresh stone looked into the firmament.
"The words upon it whispered"
"this is my battle ground, this is my grave.
The war is nothing but civil, please assent my rifles cross the threshold and in the hands.
Of god."
Our sun subsequently felt melancholy. The Vicissitude of the sea changed with silence. No individual was at this juncture.
Apart from his flying heart, inside the minds of his remembrance lovers...
However he now rests... with his contacts of adoration and confrontation.
"Why is this brought upon bereavement?
So many questions unearth us suitable recluses
Nothing now to do but just remain...
To the upcoming....
From a man with a unhinged heart and vein.
Élan O’ Ender.