Our pleasures be joyless

Doleful experiences

We seek not lifes beauty

But cherish it's funeral aspects



We crave the (mis)fortunes

Rich in their non entity

Rejoice in celebrating less severe trajedies



In the toil to exist

We excrete individuality

Whilst captivating internment

In cloned identity

Real is the oration of stone possesed emotion

I yearn isolation from this realization

Reject the elation of blissful tranquility

Obsessions they lay with the bleak and sinister



A wealth of treasures be ours to take possession

yet we break bones and gruel to savour simulations

Disciples of the drabness

Devotees of worthlessness

Consent to endure

the anguish and form only ashes

Real is the oration(etc.)



Oh yeagh let me go

Let me wander through buildings

Immense in their desolation

At peace from your catastrophe

Here with gargoyles as my friends