malach
in the century where man dies, we, the hunters of the hollow hills, must put ourselves above pity, above self deception as law. we must be again as once were. we, the soul of the earth. as the reaping time descends the sour gain of mercy withers into the night. we must go into the darkest abyss, to a level of consciousness unknown to christendom. we want life, we crush the dream of heaven, as we bring blade one swift move. we are the chosen ones, chosen by will to life.