Mariana Mariana
New member
- Joined
- Nov 11, 2013
- Messages
- 33
The World of man is adorned by HIS accomplishments. Great Cities have arisen
from meagre beginnings, the most successful of which sit upon the lips of the
speaker, London, New York, Paris, Rome. But what height by which to measure do
these cities of Man seek to aspire the Workings of the God's? There is but one.
Pandaemonium.
The Architects of Every Madness are a play within the confines of its walls,
every bounty received by its inhabitants, for it is the pinnacle of creation
beyond the creation of man. The True and Rightful City of The God's, with
streets that lead to every nowhere, and roads that lead to every home. It is the
Doorway to every path, every past and every future conceivable by those who dare
to seek.
The Home of True Treasure, what other Alter could display Our Fathers Victory's
so? An epitaph of HIS Will, HIS Enemies shown broken to the Worthy of HIS Call.
The remains of every conquest a tangible epitaph to the Blind, a Visible
manifestation to the Truly Living. Michaels "bits" still bleed upon inspection,
and are subject to the inquisition of every Unholy Whim. Prod them if you will,
should it suit your purpose to do so. Defile them, despoil them, in this museum
of victory every touch is a touch towards tomorrows finality in victory and
Glory, Our Father Proud of every blasphemy, as HIS Sons bend smiles towards
their Fathers chosen beaten dogs, their bark a whimper, their growl an
acceptance of the pain of defeat. T's not a hymn that raises the voice of
promise, but a curse carried on every conceivable whim towards their demise.
Pandaemonium, City of Dreams, lost to waking, found in death, a World-Scape of
Promise that stains the Lies of Life and Births the Dream that gives to
Nightmare to the Living of Without. What dreams have substance then that are
without the architects touch? None, none can boast of Foundation or Fact that is
without the Factual Foundation of His Spoken breath. Here, among the Market and
the Mayhem, Here Our Father Lets without restriction HIS Chosen, HIS children,
roam among the shadows of a dealers promise. But the deal is a good one, and
fulfilment a promise to be beheld, with neither interest or pay back, Our Father
says to all, a Citizen of Pandaemonium is a Citizen of Every Future, a Citizen
of Every Victory to be tasted on the Life.
Pandaemonium is Every Brick ever put towards, every tower that dared to reach to
the Stars. No Babylon can rise from its ashes, for Pandaemonium will never burn,
will never soil, will never fade, it is a fabric upon every fabric, and beyond
the manipulation of every mortality. As Water shapes Water and is the guide to
every landing Pandaemonium is a glass stronger than time, eroded only by memory,
but as always in Our Fathers Name, the Memory Remains.
I walk the streets of Pandaemonium devoid of lock or key, for its essence is
about me, and its lure is echoed in my every gaze. The Key to the city of every
city is a key by which my hand was born to turn. Immortality is a step from step
to step by brick and shorter by every conciousness.
Pandemonium, beyond son or legend is a song or legend to sing by any voice. Vote
freedom in acceptance and enjoy the cobbles of its every promising, alone in
street and alley, for no darkness lurks in shadows to the keepers of its truth.
Come then, see the decaying fool, taste the forbidden water and smile, for
Pandemonium is a joke by which HIS enemy gasp for breath.
Hail Satan!!
from meagre beginnings, the most successful of which sit upon the lips of the
speaker, London, New York, Paris, Rome. But what height by which to measure do
these cities of Man seek to aspire the Workings of the God's? There is but one.
Pandaemonium.
The Architects of Every Madness are a play within the confines of its walls,
every bounty received by its inhabitants, for it is the pinnacle of creation
beyond the creation of man. The True and Rightful City of The God's, with
streets that lead to every nowhere, and roads that lead to every home. It is the
Doorway to every path, every past and every future conceivable by those who dare
to seek.
The Home of True Treasure, what other Alter could display Our Fathers Victory's
so? An epitaph of HIS Will, HIS Enemies shown broken to the Worthy of HIS Call.
The remains of every conquest a tangible epitaph to the Blind, a Visible
manifestation to the Truly Living. Michaels "bits" still bleed upon inspection,
and are subject to the inquisition of every Unholy Whim. Prod them if you will,
should it suit your purpose to do so. Defile them, despoil them, in this museum
of victory every touch is a touch towards tomorrows finality in victory and
Glory, Our Father Proud of every blasphemy, as HIS Sons bend smiles towards
their Fathers chosen beaten dogs, their bark a whimper, their growl an
acceptance of the pain of defeat. T's not a hymn that raises the voice of
promise, but a curse carried on every conceivable whim towards their demise.
Pandaemonium, City of Dreams, lost to waking, found in death, a World-Scape of
Promise that stains the Lies of Life and Births the Dream that gives to
Nightmare to the Living of Without. What dreams have substance then that are
without the architects touch? None, none can boast of Foundation or Fact that is
without the Factual Foundation of His Spoken breath. Here, among the Market and
the Mayhem, Here Our Father Lets without restriction HIS Chosen, HIS children,
roam among the shadows of a dealers promise. But the deal is a good one, and
fulfilment a promise to be beheld, with neither interest or pay back, Our Father
says to all, a Citizen of Pandaemonium is a Citizen of Every Future, a Citizen
of Every Victory to be tasted on the Life.
Pandaemonium is Every Brick ever put towards, every tower that dared to reach to
the Stars. No Babylon can rise from its ashes, for Pandaemonium will never burn,
will never soil, will never fade, it is a fabric upon every fabric, and beyond
the manipulation of every mortality. As Water shapes Water and is the guide to
every landing Pandaemonium is a glass stronger than time, eroded only by memory,
but as always in Our Fathers Name, the Memory Remains.
I walk the streets of Pandaemonium devoid of lock or key, for its essence is
about me, and its lure is echoed in my every gaze. The Key to the city of every
city is a key by which my hand was born to turn. Immortality is a step from step
to step by brick and shorter by every conciousness.
Pandemonium, beyond son or legend is a song or legend to sing by any voice. Vote
freedom in acceptance and enjoy the cobbles of its every promising, alone in
street and alley, for no darkness lurks in shadows to the keepers of its truth.
Come then, see the decaying fool, taste the forbidden water and smile, for
Pandemonium is a joke by which HIS enemy gasp for breath.
Hail Satan!!
