Exile - Ovid's Withering

Curiosity consumes the masses, and the Mad King Augustus proselytizes

Those who dare cross his name

Save the primitive touch of innocence

I will not falter in this

For I remained untouched by these earthly desires

The makers will retaliate both in life and undeath

Deliverance from the conscious

Banished to the black sea, detached from all of his society

«You'll plea for death, death by virtuous hands.»

They have risen from the ashes of the throne

The tome of the Necrogod

Consecrating a symposium befouled

Left in the hands of the fallen

«You'll pay for this, betrayer!

I grow tired of all of your blatant displays of

blasphemy

I have given myself.

I belong to the damned

Exiled for eternity.»

Exile

Conceived in the threshold of transformation

Ethereal algorithms eclipsed in prophecy

They have risen from the ashes of the throne

The tome of the Necrogod

Consecrating a symposium befouled

Left in the hands of the fallen

«You'll pay for this, betrayer!

I grow tired of all of your blatant displays of

blasphemy

I have given myself.

I belong to the damned

Exiled for eternity

Let it be written in this passage of lore

For all of these wretched children, all these wretched whores

A maniacal wasteland lay before him

To ignore disease is to be consumed

To be naive is to entice war."

It begins

Slowly I crept in — their black tongues flickering betwixt their blistered skin

A most unbiblical chord… all by the grace of the serpent-lord

«I stand upon the husks of dead heroes to unearth the tome of the Necrogod,

and now the visions are clear!

We murder to dissect.»