The tree subsides with the murmur of the eye which whispers with the mouth, offends, fault, simple secrecy. That advances like a methane flood. Crimsoning my gangrene of the feet to the head, I ooze, I bleed, for you my human race which fell asleep with the corner of the world. Unclean is the reflection of the too heavy sin to carry, therefore I carry it. I am the child chosen, conquered, born on his promised land subjected to my whip which lacerates the lost flesh being diverted right way which is mine. Want you to still intend me to groan & to feel sorry for me... Not. You, molasses, is stretched out, still trails themselves in the putrefied and hot air. Because soon I would come to save you. My crown of spines inserted in the head, me, assiduous, I obey the large Master and I lick to lose my almost dead breath of it, I suffocate, I choke myself while being on his line, but is. I view as a film each life which ravels, sorts and sometimes imagines. You, molasses, is stretched out, still trails themselves, await-your death. Your body falls asleep in my painless arrival. And I bleed myself with the four veins, with four bloods, so that my aureole becomes diadem and that one day, scintillating, it becomes quite brilliant. Sleep quiet, impassive, because from the top of my throne, me, I condition you. Me, I condition you! You, molasses, is stretched out, still trails themselves, awaits your death, beseeches. Those which you adore, tighten you the hand and leaves you with your fate. Irony of fate? Fate! Child, sit down against me, in me. I am everywhere, I am thirsty. Come in my rape. Your heart takes fire. I am that which will pump your life. :(