And onto the lips of a child he bled misery
Life from this day forth decreed a living grave.
Apon this rotting tree his broken eye swivels,
Swirls across the land from Golgothas mount.
In but a moment he prayed apon our erdg to be sheep.
And on his face (distorted with thorn born scars),
A shadow of what he ment was manipulated by his rock.
Epop's, first of many, children abused the lie into a solid truth!

The past two thousand years were but a Neanderthals nightmare . . .

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Phaestian, in the year 295 AF.