Stranger Days

London Craves for new Raw Flesh. It's a morning more when You Woke to see the Face of Fate. Bright Suns stare down to earth from Pious Heights. The Hope of lost men is to cut the Throats of ancient Fears; without the breath of the Stones quick joys make home in the Crystal eyes of blind Children. Brainless rivers lead Your steps to the depts of Scaled Dreams. The Fear is nothing compared to the Hate of Love. White are the wings of Reason, black the eyes of Treason; just blanc stares of Oblivion into the infinity of Ignorance and Pride. The Drakon flew down the receses of longing minds to feed in Festering Memories.

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