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Disciples Of Boredom [Oct. 24th, 2005|06:58 pm]
I followed the blood
To the woods
And there it became the shadow

Of a man long dead.

And his eyes were made of fire.
And his soul was made of anger.
And even god didn’t dare to unlock

His secrets.

And in his church sat
The empty people.
The disciples of boredom.

The martyrs of absolute

Silence in the halls of one man
Angry enough to kill a boy who
Spoke his name to a relative.

Things will not be christened

By he who is the
Opposite of
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