The soul of the dead ruler might climb to the sky drawn their sins suspended on helical tombs in foreground rises the creepy shape of the unholy ones larvae's covering waiting for rebirth's sign enter an encysted hibernation Empery's necrofarmers cultivate these inseminoids but what they do with their harvest lifeless no one knows even if they will see the light of day immerge their scabbards on glacial calabooses enter an encysted hibernation A memmified oval spheroid emulsify at the archaic towers beside the vast upper regions the started the crooked devolution Evanesce the unfruitful heatless conservation on encapsulation glorify their cavernous necrotheism they will never conquer my astral body.