If my wrath broke up tombs and swept away tresholds pushing broken old values into dark pits if my hate would blow rotten words to dust like a cleansing wind through moulding graves
Then I could rejoice where gods lay entombed covered with the sands of time beside the keepers of a dying faith
Silent are the watchers
Even I would love the church if the sun watchers down through cracked domes on the worms below
Silent are the watchers gargoyles of a glorious past perched upon their thrones in cold shadow cast across infinite reaches unto new morals away from this filthy domain
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