II: Lost Souls

You stole my heart,
As Prometheus stole the flame,
You tore it apart, as if it were another obstacle lay in your way,
You scattered its remains in the dust,
Destined to join the Sahara dunes of lonely souls.

If ever I find you, my figure of anonymity,
My body of shrouds,
You too shall die by fate’s hand,
By my. Stone. Cold. Hands.

Let this be your final note of conclusion,
Your last warning of absolution,
Your death sentence. And with it you shall feel my

Loves,
Hate.

I am your God of Eternal,
Your Beloved lover of Abhorrence,
Your Loathed hater of Adoration.

When I find you,
I shall wrap my steel coils around you,
I shall see your heart stained black by years of torment,
I shall feel your blood run cold like the frozen rivers of dead civilisations,

You stole my heart,
As Prometheus stole the flame,
You tore it apart, as if it were another obstacle that lay in your way,
You scattered its remains in the dust,
Destined to join the Sahara dunes of lonely souls.

The End

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