Between the bees and their honey (Interlude)

Twins, they look exhausted. The bond that was once sacred, that of the sting that bites whatever moves in boiling hate towards creation, now serves as a milisecond of regret. You made a new Olympus out of broken nails and a pile of shit, and placed your tin men as deities to serve and protect the meek that fled away from the winter. Thus, you forgot the momentum of what you once needed for existence: Honey, bread, wine and song. But inside the carcass that Samson created out of the lion that breeds, a new holy marriage was born. Wine was now honey, flesh was bread, and the bees created song out of nothing. A new temple was raised, thus we were all heretics and deserved to die. Though, temples have a memory as well, and this drone that escaped the wrath of your so called emperors in their robes of truth, will breed the hammers that will tear down the walls of sin and the halo that will bear the mark of what we devour, to taste the devine once more. The Holy Cunt of the so called Whore. "Lies is life".