Wild Salsa

a bridge has fallen a toll that cannot be payed, poured in the finest mold of creatures unkept, decrepit birth from the bowels of sanctuary no place easy to find sanity. corpses from betrayed trust and fallen soldiers wear the number six hundred sixty six where hope is relinquished in the dawn of apocalypse. 2012 is the pentagram rewritten horns that pierce the ground triumphant profound. Hidden in darkness lies the most unwritten of truths where trust is not longer sacred where it is no longer truth. Hate that fills the lungs that drown useless souls undetected by the lesser the dwellings unknown. halos crushed by citizens and thrown with reckless abandon, disturbing portraits paint the walls cocaine white, visions unclear all you will see is the light. walking passages that trap those who know not of the lurking dangers where you will finally see the blood of strangers. Those scalpels that cut cold with precise incision what is your final resting place, what is ur decision?