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In The King's Hands
by
Nomad
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Born in a grimace of fight for breath of his soulsCursed in metaphorsRejected in an ideal molesting of lifeOn a scream carried by La VeyI am the freedomI am the significanceA sense of precipitous, dry provocationsThe leader made of paper has disappearedIn my spatial image I'm the king of dreamsEscape with camps of lazy orgasmsIn the manifestation of power and downfallOn the other side, being all depths of hellsI'm screaming: "freedom"In the reverence of ungodly childrenconvenient like beast's eyesForgotten to the frightenedPossessed by the pleasure of windworshiping evil in the curseI'm scolding with freedom, agony and fossilIn the symptom of ecstasySomewhere in a dreamWell-groomed I'm killing your little godsIn the fire of imperious south I'm hovering with freedom"Like after experienced captivity in the shrine of goodthe horde of evil kneels down in a stoned fault"
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