For his vocal chords are lines of orchestral instruments,
Yet the outer body might reflect normality..
And his resting place the fields and the hills..
Serpents hypnotised, mind possessed by the same serpentine.
Fine wines as the brass' lubricant so that magnificence may be heard!
At which frequency may he form puppet strings for your head..?
Laps of musical emboweling in the fields, nourishing horrific chords....
The giver of voice for pain and the creator who creates from nothingness.

741 || 741 ~~ 741 || 741 ~~ 741 || 741 ~~ 741 || ~~ || ~~ 
Beau..ty 
CHAOS
∞

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