let us not waste away creatively but dance to that final serenade to oulive the myth of rivers running red. i am not sandstoned (disbanded)but rather i am forgotten in the empty quarter of Al-Namrood. This immortal pain of our grieving age will disturb the balance of our deathless anguish. the inversion of that crescent light will be the sound of ruby as the breeze of the dying forms into a wry wreath.
here's a picture:
