Led Orium XIII

Good run spurning – spun to the degree I find, nothing seems
to matter when I set the self to binding this construction to its will;
learn the archetype from caring too much over the fulfilment of the
cycles I invade, victim to my detrimental long-cuts bound to say I’ve
made it too much like reward I’m craving – silence by the space I’ve
taken for the granted I was not, spitting out my fluids seeking to be
spoken to by source, and there transformed to something seething;
poison out to grow my worship under lines of hordes to follow in
the steps of what I face – body shutting down by sectors, as the
eyes begin to glaze; thoughts become a second shadow to Ideal
I once engaged in, now am punished by attempting, by the God
I should replace.