You'll sound gutteral, the spoken word will vibrate the spinal as the air rips the throat like fishing hooks. Seeping yellow green puss coughin oh brown gunk like rusted lungs chaining smoke after smoke the living chimney. Stars swirl and moon light bends by the hands of pelt dressed man. His motions fluid as the earth growing grass lights his step and a crown of fire flies atop his head bellowing smoke with glowing belly. He hushes, grows low the step shooting toward the ill man. With a reach and palletable touch dragging fingers like steel plows across bare skin leaving it hot. His black finger tips atipped narled nails. Skin shiny and hard like rams head from gripping coals. The fingers burn the skin peeling skin, screaming by God to free the soul demiurge parasite is pulled from the heart glowing light almost petrifying placed into a jar. Dragging his feet across the dirt backward, burning the grass clutching the vessel as it burns. Glass glows, turning black oxygen is stripped from the foundation making a black lense. Focused light, burning skin smelt in close the fire fiend adorned many pelts and charms. Atopped a firefly crown. Backflips into a darkness so deep and pure. Sucking light into its maul. Crowd stands, weathered by his meer presence the full fire runs starved to the coals in moments

Stars realign to normal semblance, feed and blazing the fire churns out its flies. Soon to be next years pests they laugh tossing log and branch amid blessed blaze. The dancing triangle of the skin over head burns there heads and fresh chemtrails shape pentagram. Now free of the parasite not free the observation of these organizations and beings tracking the man of blackened fingers. Hunting him from earth, the essence of guerilla, the black finger shaman a figure of neutrality. A man beaten ragged and rubbed raw tanned the sun many generations. Devolving into insanity one mind cannot hold so much and baring the black winds standing above the word the highest peak of Zion he sees the Red heifer in the sky. One more day towards Christ's kingdom on earth.

Screaming, bear barking, knuckle dragging fiends the many sons of the shaman lay in rest, secured across many nations protected by magical spells men before and after the flood. Beings who possess a pure heart for total war, their waking dream branding the new insane their minds the signs of bandenkrieg. Christ's army legions of pure savages. Chained and bound their spirits soon to be forced marched. Plagued unpure beings adorned the steel and guns. Heads like motors, bodies fit for oak, with unforgiving posture. Beings of soul conscious unity in battle. You may not see it but I see chains. I see chains around my very neck. The reincarnation ancient roaming tribe. Long since forgotten from the age man first took this earth. Waging war with their machines. Littering the soil beneath russian swamps.

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