Eternity on Paper [COMPLETE]

Pavlov's Dog

It's not fair, this phoenix bomb. But all the right things in all the right places, so they say.

Words are a gift, but eloquence is an illness of the aimless. Agony though it may be, what difference does it make for those who speak in dead tongues?

In El Dorado, the groundskeeper quenches the thirst of the soil with his very blood, all for the sake of those blessed to partake in the riches of unnatural nature.

Screams of silence lost in a sea of laughter are just a consequence of the beast, after all. And he who is made of bronze is not fit to live amongst the gold-plated.

So, when the bell rings in Paradiso, may the wayward lamb march away from the infinite slaughter, and towards a better fate: a guillotine named Pride.