Grotesque Through Incoherence Sphere
You lovely sphere, riderqueen of our destiny, under
protection by the almighty in all your sequences.
This sound to distort eardrum in purpose and rock your
whole self. It's all about x-rated motherfucking
breakdown, for all those selfish sons of a bitch in
recognition for her, now go to confession to make it up.
Your creeping discomfort, like human paralitic disease.
Suffocated, oppressed by our attitude, obstinated to the
bones.
Day by day your hopeless will to live declines, your
wounds grow inordinately through your painful slow death.
Your decision to reveal downfall for all.