Our pleasures be joyless doleful experiences. We seek not life's beauty but cherish its funeral
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aspects. We crave the (mis)fortunes rich in their non entity rejoice in celebrating less severe
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tragedies. In the toil to exist we excrete individuality whilst captivating internment in cloned identity.
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Real is The oration of stone possessed emotion. I yearn isolation from this realisation. Reject the
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elation of blissful tranquility, obsessions they lay with the bleak and sinister. A wealth of treasures be
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ours to take possession yet we break bones and gruel to savour simulations. Disciples of the
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drabness devotees of worthlessness consent to endure the anguish and form only ashes. Real is the
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oration <i>[etc]</i>. Oh yeagh let me go. Let me wander through buildings immense in their desolation. At
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peace from your catastrophe here with gargoyles as my friends.
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Picture Of Beauty & Innocence (Intro) - Commiserating The Celebration
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| Cathedral |
