born in this crippled society
was a child in utter solitude
apprehension crept in his veins
abhorrence battered his sane
feeling Suffocated by the vanity
he looked outside for zephyr
But all he could see was carcasses
carcasses of Morality and justness
futile was his wait incessant,
The sun of hope was eclipsed forever
and an eternal darkness consumed him
But,then came a Prophet shrouded,
he Whispered to his dormant soul,
"Long you have waited in tranquility
Now its time for you to rise.
Oh behemoth!.."
And forged in him a Sangraal of rage..
Now unveiled is the behemoth in him,
The ones who once bemired him
He vows to walk on their skulls,
He is the messiah of the damned
He will summon his four horsemen,
And end an epoch of the "Noble" few...
He is no one but the deviant me...
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