Tears fill my eyes.
Tears of sorrow as i watch the rosewood heal from the hole i just burned.
Bow down. this ugly scar will mend itself again,
But when will it's figure die?
Pierced through the heart.
I watch the red elixir spill from the center of it's life.
I depict eighteen visions for it's demise.
Not even water can bring back two thousand years of life i've watched die.
Rise to your glory on the third day.
You are not my christ.
Rise. utopia.
Damned to hell.
I rest this figure of ideal perfection.
There will be no funeral for this profane existence.
Always on the left hand path.
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