It's just vapors come from 'neath the ground. Ancestral toils churning. The concrete honorable souls who in Hell, assure our strength here in this mutually lonely combat, together weaving sword and axe. For us and in us for the Godly! Here in Turmoil's favorite arena.
Vapors which just before were vaporous when in human guise walked on this earth, and were in this ungodly matrix, like us. Never fooled by the compass or the square, or either when encircled.
Its with your own reclaimed awareness, that you put things back into place: if you dont, then all you'll have in the end, is compasses and squares and bleak bad taste for those potential cavernous holes that walk and fill their abysmal innards. With dross and rust and metal worms.
But dont they wish for it? To have more and, some more.
Scarecrows in a maze built by frightened tyrants. Engineers sapping the life sap from what is the vital virgin stuff of things.
A life insulted by the semblance of a man, ...and it wears clothes perhaps just like us, but unlike those who in Heaven live in Hell, but do not belong.
We are the unpredictable enemy of those who hate our Lord Christ, the golden one.
We come stealthily from beyond the North Polar Axis. Falling into a realm of cynical madness. Where harpies rule weak arrogant men.
** * ** **
Be adamant.
Help only those whom you suppose worthy. And those who squander or pillage all that is pretty, get rid of!
Or if not, flee them that relish in their destined ghetto squalor, and then blow the whole damn thing up!
Be good to all but never be respectful to those who disrespect,
your child, your kind, your spiritual soil and holy blood!
** * ** **
The immortal fountain's child. The supernal eye in the yuletide cradle. These are the seed from which you come. And dont forget!
This is why, there is an adamant faith distills your unified ghost from this place to where your courage takes you.
Think on the end.
