Phantasmic brass crashes, hear it as the mirror glass shatters, eerier than black magic burials with cracked caskets. Experience madness, Evil Messiah, violent animal. A quiet coastal town gets overrun by zombie cannibals. Find her father fiending for f-flesh of Marianna Hill, sixty-six sick scriptures etched into his final will. He stands still, own daughter thought him just another sculpture. Just because the blood's drained, that doesn't make it kosher. You frustrated? Settle down, stress causes ulcers. We've got enough problems with the corpses at the grocers and the locusts and the cobras and the vultures. Yo, it's over, time to relocate to South or North Dakota. Cold and isolated regardless of seasonal stages, they've got an arsenal waiting and they're staging the sieges. Take it or leave it. Y'all misbehaving pagan make-believers can pray for your demons, vacationing on ancient vacant beaches. I awaken from what seemed to be an Endless sleep. Haunting imagery decreed the Requiem for a Dream. I mean it's over, I think. Eyes open and blink. I rush into the restroom, dunk my dome in the sink. Holding the brink of insanity between gasps for breath, nightmarish cemeteries where cadavers stay fresh. As one second fades to death, time manifests. As one second fades to death, I resurrected Luca Brasi. Giuliani ought to be the arch rival, non-libel, nah yo, New Yorker war monger boss gone wild. My Strong Isle dark smile results for the crossfire of frost biter wisenheimers coughing up bile. Hey yo, pardon this funky sound check. Prophetic like unborn child kicks, I'm so far ahead of my time your watch will stick in one spot. Clocks get set still tickity-tock stop a sec. Relatively consequential cause and effect. Miss Polly wants to politic probably 'cause she's on some shit, obviously caught up in these dollars and cents. See, that's the problem with debt - the stock market could hit rock bottom tomorrow, then what you borrowed gets spent on god-awful reprints of Gone with the Wind lost files. Talk bible scriptures, scripting fiction pictures. False idols pop bottles after sabotaging lodges with Adam Rothschild. Phantom goth models crack a monster out the gargoyle.
