On the art of suffering

Prelates dabbled in the gore of their helpless female victims.
Cells of priest prisons are paved with the calcined bones of men,
and cemented with human gore and human hair.
Ancient arts teached in necropolis without orizons where deads are crying in silence
And hopes fads in violence
I will murder all of you while you are leeping in your beds. I am the black announcer of your death.
Oh Satan have mercy of my long suffering, break my bones, and give me the plague,
I am the butcher's meat, and the long waited pentecostal killer.
I fill the holyfool with thorns. Take me down….Down to the ground in a garbage bag
Soulmate of the worms, sodomite of the eternal.