I'm just excited to see my lord and saviour, Baphomet represented in such glorious Italian stone. I do hope his eyes gaze upon me and my allegiance is recognised. I don't know. Notice me Senpai, notice me... part of me wishes that angle statue would come to life and king Baphomet would rise and two eternal juggernauts would do battle right here in the middle of the city. But for what is this battle raging you ask? I don't know. What stands at the center? To that I say, my soul is at the center offered up to the ageless ones, only born in Twain. It's like you can't have one without, you know like I'm equal parts god and the devil a cloak of shame covers this man, and only supreme light will wash my body clean. But how can that possibly reach me? With the thick clouds of indecency that surrounds my poor soul? So I carry my wrong doings on my back, like some kind of tormented hiker, lost in the hills of misfortune, looking desperately for that peak to rescue him from the valley of depraved, habitual, self pleasuring. But again, I find nothing. Except, for sweaty, devastated loneliness and a thousand judging eyes staring back at me from the cover of a stolen Victoria secret catalogue. I DIDN'T TAKE YOUR MAIL MRS. PEMBERTON! STOP ASKING ME THAT! AND LEAVE ME ALONE
I don't know. Satan's pretty cool!
I don't know. Satan's pretty cool!
