The Dark that is... is not the nameable Dark,
For art there is that's not the paintable Art.

Poised sullenly, he dips his blade,
In Necromantic Powers' aid.

Burn my side and scourge my flesh,
Within erupts without bereft of courage, honour

Loyalty.

Within there lies Democracy.

Between competing planets Noxtra,

Somnustra onyx jaded hearts.

Lunastra sleeping, dying Arts.

Within, without,
I pour, My doubt,
For poring spent in poor pertaining
Greater like for entertaining.

Spoiling, wanting, greed, provoke.

All is empty save the yolk,
The giving milk,

The kinder bread,
Love without is seldom felt.

Born of Sin and razed anew,
The battle of the two ensued.

Sweeping nightmares,
Haunting visions,

Is the cadre of their rhythm

Sweep and stack
And Jab and hack

The blood begins anew,
Alack, the Others seldom
Brought one through.

But as we tire, endurance leech,
Thus the onslaught begs relief

The Blades are sharp,
The night is young,

And there is yet more to be sung.

A rapier, with tune upon
It's rusty tip, to sing anon

Insanities of Golgotha Dimensions,
Which of course, I never mention.

Locked in glare, the warriors dare;
Take no soul, no prisoners.

But a ballad for them all;
To urge the blood to creep and crawl

On tempered skin, on shield erect
As if to say "I'm hit, I'm hit"?

But no more would blood there flow.
For within a day or so,

They both grew tired, and desired.

To let it be, let it be.

-Gamoneterik Ikterik'tek

Penned by my hand on the 14th of Valnuary, in the year 597 AF.