His landscape has been scorned with death. Once a city nowlaid to ash. A decaying father has left his bastard son with his addcitions at his side. Chased away, consumed from his fixations, this mans life went down in flames. Chased away what he's created, his hunger grows. There is no end to this life of fixations, he remains a walking corpse as his legs will move forward. For his addictions itch at his throat only to crave more of the blood he seeks. When buried, his tomb will breathe, his hands will rise from his grave begging only for sleep. Dear father, I'll be wating, I've saved you a seat in hell. For this man only thirsts for blood, the blood of his child, he stands knee deep in the blood of his bastard son. |
