A golden flash, the brightest of light, strong and vibrant, will always have the same dark effect: A Shadow being cast. A mass of darkness ruling over space and substance. And it will remain so till eternity, for where light exists in one place, darkness will consume the other. That's the unjust world we live in. That's the criteria of this corrupt body. And In that same body, in similar darkness stands a figure in dense black. A lonely orchestra justifying the dripping red on his hands. High notes in synchronization with the murderous glint in his eyes, low ones with his concept. One that defines his act of taking light out of eyes or how he perceives: passing of righteous judgment. A twisted concept that sheds a faint light on a barren land. Where melody is defined by the ruthless rusty creeks made by old unmaintained joints. Where water is an eerie black and the land, burnt up Ashes. Where a dim gray is the sun to it's diseased inhabitants. A concept that marks the filthy nature of those who step foot on this cornucopia of death. That the world is rotten, filled with rotten people. That we are a cancer and we must be taken down for light to finally have it's conquest on darkness. That we live of each others flesh, each others blood. And so, he justifies his act of darkness, passing what seems to him as conscientious judgement, punishing the wicked. Moving his righteous sword in a trance with the dark tune playing in his mind, unveiling his own law.... For there is nothing more dangerous then a feeble fanatic mind accepting himself as the religious Messiah of this rotten world.
