Simmetry becomes it
Come to ruin our impending feast, a presence that nourishes suffering. All things below voice his burning name. His turmoil offers only truth in which longer moments live.
Let consciousness recapture the flicker it saw then.
Torch our continuity of thought now, until that mind evaporates. Lust after shadows in us. Rend that lace of promises broken and white lies. Regard our love of wreckage; the way our heads thunder, approaching that warning pulse and temple of throbbing light that is ASMODEUS.
ASMODEUS is that light throbbing of temple and pulse, warning that approaching thunder heads our way. The wreckage of love. Our regard lies white and broken. Promises of lace that rend us, in shadows, after lust evaporates.
Mind that until now thought of continuity, our torch, then saw it flicker, the recapture: consciousness let live momentes longer, which in truth only offers turmoil. His name burning, his voice below things. All suffering nourishes that presence, a feast impending, our ruin to come.
It becomes simmetry.
Puesto a anarrosear, mejor a los grandes: esto lo ha escrito Alan Moore. Lo he sacado de un librito absolutamente genial: Magical Mistery Moore, de Sulaco ediciones. Creo que está agotadísimo, pero si lo encontráis por casualidad, compradlo sin dudar.
Let consciousness recapture the flicker it saw then.
Torch our continuity of thought now, until that mind evaporates. Lust after shadows in us. Rend that lace of promises broken and white lies. Regard our love of wreckage; the way our heads thunder, approaching that warning pulse and temple of throbbing light that is ASMODEUS.
ASMODEUS is that light throbbing of temple and pulse, warning that approaching thunder heads our way. The wreckage of love. Our regard lies white and broken. Promises of lace that rend us, in shadows, after lust evaporates.
Mind that until now thought of continuity, our torch, then saw it flicker, the recapture: consciousness let live momentes longer, which in truth only offers turmoil. His name burning, his voice below things. All suffering nourishes that presence, a feast impending, our ruin to come.
It becomes simmetry.
Puesto a anarrosear, mejor a los grandes: esto lo ha escrito Alan Moore. Lo he sacado de un librito absolutamente genial: Magical Mistery Moore, de Sulaco ediciones. Creo que está agotadísimo, pero si lo encontráis por casualidad, compradlo sin dudar.
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