Lord Dark Celt Bard Emeritus's blog: "Random Babblings from an Unsound Mind."

Rip,thrash,shred Crimson painting walls Bleeding those not meant to be bled Getting off on the dying screams of the Damned There is as much Art In what I do As there is In a butcher at the block Though his medium is flesh, Mine is purifying FIRE Erasing the very land Upon which ye once walked. What am I? I'm the wind between the rocks at Golgotha I'm that roar of bestial rage, Heard when Carthage(bloody and tainted) fell I am Death,made eloquent. Cessitation of life,wrapped in fashionable mantras My anger is synthetic I merely clear the canvas for those to come after.