Neonblack Lyrics Bookstyle

N e o n b l a c k
UNTIL THE SUN IS SILENT

A rotting strand of twisted thoughts ran through his
mind as he was crossing the bridge.
The pungent stench of sulfur, decrement and rotting
fish permeated the air – but Vylhaelm did not even
notice the odor. For all his being was focused on these
giant cocoons illuminated by a graceful golden light on
which he now laid his eyes.
Completely captivated Vylhaelms fingers ghostet over
their infectious surface smeared with greyish-yellow
slime before . . .

See the withered lord –
with his crown, made of thorns.
Trapped in a state of feverish madness.
Caught by a gruesome vision come true.

And once the sun is silent,
their blood will fossilize -
their bones will dry and brittle
and slowly break to dust.

Contorted with pain Vylhaelm coughs a putrid lump of
mucus from his moldy lungs, before the blade opens his
veins and the vicious, pitch-black blood gradually
covers the bottom of a stone trough standing right in
front of him. They can smell the tempting scent already
– desire to engage their slippery, thickly webbed hands
in this precious brew and – sip by sip – consume the
entirely blood-filled trough . . .