Current location:	My freezer
Current mood:	cold
Current music:	Gene Scott's screams
Entry tags:	dreams

Don't Be Cross

How cute, how quaint.
The little boys run to church again.
Pray to the ignis divine.
Pray to be one of the sancta.
Pray to the statue of Kyrie - don't forget him.
Do not worry - the rock hears you.

With a pious necessity to be pius,
Your duty awaits for now. At finus vitae
There is no duty. There is destiny, that is all.
Jahim, Ladza, Sae'er, these are for others.
You children, you divine, get Zamhareer.
Your castitatis lilia have long since withered
Diaboli never close the door after leaving a room
Despite the activated air conditioner.
Gouge eyes, pull hair, bite arms, eat
apples, by all means.
Fatum never rests.
Rocks have eyes as well as ears.

Eyes that glow with light in your dark.
They shall indeed watch over you all, you lilies of weeds.
They will not leave till the icy breeze washes over
The last pectus of your burning summers.
Cool air shall wisk them home in 90 years time.
Zeke the freak shall prove an oracle
At 7:25, the James prophecy awaits.
Open your books sanctum, open your doors sepientiam.
Its all been thought out, its all been preplanned.
Zeke the freak shall prove an oracle.
John has been savagely killed, you have done it now.
You Jacks have gone and eaten the corpse.
It tasted of applesauce and redrum.
What is left for you but eternal winter?
Nothing. It is simply another Sunday.
Pull out the pages, you stoned little whores
And pray to the rock in the shape of the boar.