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± That Of Alabastor ± ± Stained With Fire ± . Pistons slash air, hind region propelled 'ward clashin'. Lappetts clash gingerly 'pon body o' muted ember, tawny figure protruded 'pon night, blissful to the dimness o' the shadow . . Hath thou ever wondered, the victory at hand? Hath thou ever wondered, what lies b'neat the sand? Hath thou ever thought, 'bout what these lies do mean? Or hath they just been burried, never to be seen? Arrise, And Kiss The Flame, Be Saved And Showered With Shame . . Tawny fatale 'merges 'pon night, mug 'xtended 'ward clearly virgin ash, boa constricted to 'mit ashen scream...rolling o'er iv'ry labrums. Wafting tresses clear'y 'rise 'ward ever dim 'scope, malicious fem a' watching clearly, the return o' the leader, the 'Tribe' the 'Soldiers Of Flame' as one of many shall call themselves . [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] |