When Human Compost Stains All Earth And Repels The Messengers Of Love - Circle Of Dead Children

I hope to be there when the eggs of skepticism hatch and develop into superior

bodies of free thought

They hope to be there when the timbers split and bio-germ death decorates the

skies like a thousand devils winking

Anchor our hands

Recapture our minds

Salvation’s rent is due and cerebral bankruptcy has been filed

The potter’s wheel has been re-invented and his products will never die

The butcher’s blade has been whet and his products were never alive

So let the tree of previous knowledge fall and be the first to vacate the hive