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The Gospel of Set

far hidden within the hourglass spinning, each their own shadow, each their own temple

the circle is cast and the call hast be wriven, breaking the time piece is but a lively

mishappenstance of the living, thoughts proceed by thinking, thinking before thoughts

and step by step the mind is forgiven, mile by mile the hallways swept, the mask in the

mirror, a blank canvas, and on the carpet less floor, the bones of history, from within

the bones the serpents rise, the pit of vipers seethe, black scales of black vision, knotting

everything behind trees, the black blood rises quickly now, quicker than before, the black

blood rises fast, there is nothing more than to focus, there is nothing more than the frame

left, and the serpents rise, black serpentine serpent mind, back, black blood rises, quick

the angle of the mirror splits, in reverse the right arm lifts, in reverse, the knife heals the

wounded, black light from the black depth lifts from deep inside, and all the black spiders

turn white and move as spiders do within, biting more holes to let more black light the

temple of the black blood, tears the mask up, thou hast no need for complexities, no

face white, hood black, writhing behind the mirror, a garden is only faire to the worthy

lest it be the graveyard thou does seek so willing to believe that thou hast not aspired

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