Ancient diversifications prolong existential motifs
As barley resides within the human frame
and Brilliant they seem
to the unminded masses of mere mortality.
Enter the clockwork wight
Whose eyes betray the undead nature of its nonlife.
Time ages it not, though it remains not timeless
But only the salutorious on the verge of cliffs of
remedy the sickness found in the hands of men
How many does it take?
How many deaths does it take?
How many undead does it take…
To change a light bulb?
But the light causes them to cower away in fear
And they can not give life to this object which will take undeath from them
The vampire in me sees the vampire in you,
and screams a warcry
A warcry of peace, which echoes through the fields of the fallen
Only to have them rise…
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