He was a Dreamer; His Orchids have Spoken So

I shall be happy, in an unending bliss,
Lost in the contention, I shall find it amiss,
--
The most lethargic of hedonism,
And embrace such virtue;
You're sublime in thy righteous quietus,
And shall see the end through and through.

I will spill from the veins,
Of the wretched, abyssal ghost,
As it becomes as such,
And its blood becomes the host;

The ending is the beginning,
And ends as the bread is taken,
His pure blood will spill,
And thy lips shall entreat Sin.

Spire in your spine, and
Sword in your soul;
The king of lies and fanciful words,
Has encroached upon his troll;

The minions from afar, in the plane of the damned,
Have spilt his blood, and soiled their own land:
They welcome the Death, but when Hammer falls,
The spawn of Hell will hide in His walls.

If their deeds shan’t be clean,
In the wickedness they condone,
Their Souls should forever bleed,
And their wounds would be sewn;

In loving arms, they rejected cleansing,
And thy wicked word has charm,
They were tricked and led astray
And led to lead their farewell to arms,

For now they shall never raise,
In allegiance to any malignant seam,
They shall close their eyes, when the gods
Hath spoken, in their dreams;

And when the God of gods,
Pries open their eyes,
They shall turn to the blind,
And embrace Sin’s guise.

For in the darkest of sins,
There is Hope, and She welcomes thee:
The deathly embrace of Sin,
Has deconstructed me.