My Soul.

My soul is a breath of God

A summer breeze that whistles thru the trees

parting the holy curtain in the window of the cosmos.

My soul is a ray of the Sun

A divine parcel of the One

Illuminating the darkness

casting shadows on the walls of the temple of the holy spirit

painting dreams in color 

the reflections on the panes.

My soul is a wave of the Sea

crashing on the shore 

for all eternity, forever, por siempre

Dying to be Free.

Bastard Children.

A society that rests on the pillars of exploitation and oppression creates its own bastard children:
Dirty, hungry orphans...Slaves, beggars and theives.

Black Magic.

The False Shepherd is a wicked scourcerer,

 an evil warlock who elevates himself on a throne

 and uses "Law and Order" as a weapon to conquer and subdue his 'flock'.

claiming possession over that he has no right to possess, he uses deception, manipulation, and brute force to absorb all power into himself

violating the sacred free will of the earth and her children.

Minstrels.

Their songs are spells 

They are gods and goddesses, witches and warlocks...

 possessing the power to bless and to curse

It is they that blow the trumpet, calling the warriors to battle.

They summon the sentiments of the prophets and scribes,

with rhythm, melody and rhyme they keep time

Wisdom cries out from the rooftops 

Truth echoes throughout the kingdom.

The Empress.

The Empress rules over man with a rod of iron

like a dog she trains him to bow down to her in worship and adoration

longing only to lick her pink flower and drink the essence of its honey.

The Empress hates nothing more than a free man.

She longs to lead him astray

like a dog by the neck she drags her prey into her lair

she wraps her legs around him like a black, black widow

She'll sink her fangs into your jugular 

She'll suck out your soul and embalm you with wax

leaving you an empty catacomb of nothingness.

Babylon Bitches.

Fuck babylon bitches backwards in the bushes and send them packing... with a slap on the ass back to their pads to contemplate the emptiness of their meaningless material existances.

The Witching Hour.

Awakening before the Sun

that witching hour.

In the still morning the dew lingers,

longing to be raptured to the heavens

the earth is waiting... 

anticipating the coming of its maker.

Alas, the light bearer pierces thru the darkness to summon the souls of the martyrs home.