http://combatwords.blogspot.com/2010/09/combatwords-september-3-2010-delusion.html
Each time a devil obtains its own pitchfork
An angel is learning to die.
Now populations of seraphim plummet
While newer and stronger gods rise.
No evil germinates without a fertile
Black soil, so the roots might unfurl
Out from the inky and smothering blackness—
From mineral, up to the top.
Rage grasps their hope. Pandemonium rises:
Huge. Modern and filled with the hope
That lives in avarice, laughter and throttles—
Yes, murder and paranoid hate.
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