In Cronian Hour

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Glide gilden with sinistry, and thine lung full of lead. Cross'd as leather and twine; from septen severed. Drink ne'er of that springless source nolde a sourceless spring. Unct in uterine toxins be. Friese calamitous scrye portent's ire! Parch dour from husk sour in Cronian hour the throat of Thebes. Higher billow thou, O' hyoid, athenorial fetish with digits like quills. Verily, each a vow inversed, dripping pitch; piernously plumed and upon each a viper gnashing! Without Geyron plummet to the mausoleum within the maw Solean. Strike no match - speak no names. I ask of thee, which it is that striketh thee with such fear: A blade like a tongue, or a tongue like a blade? Be thee wracked with leaden cancer! Be thee amongst the eaten of my father! Be ye abraised by the sickle of Saturn! Be as Iscariot in the mouth of Satan!

Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 25, 2025