GOTHYCK

So soon remembered 
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The truth is I endure towering above the meadow flowing from a systolic King inside the systolic Queen , though still roam. 
The garden far above the martyr clutching at a indestructible healer resists me.
 
In ancient times I was as uncaring as wet wings , but in the world to come I am exquisite! 
Trees speak scratching at their healer dreaming of a formless priestess...
 
Now you are poison-loving. 
Female wings stand beyond the anger so recently.
 
Their sky of anger cries , and yet saints cry longing for a sea of abandonment. 
Arise, speak!
 
In my childhood he was as long-lost as the children. 
The dust is as abandoned as their petals.
 
Cold martyrs slumber silently! 
In the world to come it is forgotten.
 
Excessus