Kiss the Apocalypse full on the mouth and Hang the blessed DJ.
Do it with sawed-off guitars and do it today. Guitars like lightening bolts, Guitars like battle axes. Nails and spikes and gnashing. The gnashing.
Unfold the lacework epic of black blood and bones. Read the bones.
Youth, unfurl thyself, sprung and assume the metal stance of legs
Far apart. Billow thine metal hair and let it catch the wind,
Whipping through the smoke from the smoke machine.
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