Graphic of a digital sound on black bottom

The stain glass window groans and seeths, in a spitting chimney of magma, sparks and angel hair

What is this vision I see before me, an angel a devil or a heathen. A bramble which peers over, and spears into the hearts, of the desolate lives of the lost and the found

Or a thief or a healer

No God can help you now, no prayer you can say, for I am barrelling down the north circular road at the paralleled speed of a fighter jet, and I’m coming for you boy

A quartet, but a legion of reapers will be upon you, loyal and sworn soldiers of the bayonettes hand

Helheim awaits greedy self obsessed heathens,

but the light will shine, onto the circumference, of all of which the eagle surveys.

Just be kind to thy neighbour!