Fallen anarchist, I threw a molotov cocktail towards the heavens.
Let the garden of false delights burn!
The fire melted the wings of the angel with the armband. Torpid grin of the confessor in chasuble.
Burned feathers and golden rain irrigating the forests of the subversive thought.
Heretical songs, Seere, moist softness of the black twilight fire.
At the border of the world of the Ancient Gods, we sharpen the liminal pals.
Red whores ride the Great Serpent, innumerable scales.
Cruel draconic laughter, shivers of pleasure and incandescent kisses of the Black Queen.
The enjoyment of the rebel is unalterable.