A toil beneath the skin - The Legion

Pulsating walls of veins, a chamber made of flesh

A blood stained living altar of death and wickedness

A shapeless, nameless terror.

Voiceless whispers feed the

Inner error as crawling waters

A ghastly silence — a grinding noise

Am I alone here?

Is this my voice?

Cloaking herds of vermin — stone cold faces

Underneath the surface: jet black wastelands

Stirring in the dark;

a toil beneath the skin

Freezing, cold with poison;

a coil of hungry snakes

The Devil clearly mirrored right before me

Eyes, just like my own two, see right through me

A ghastly silence — no life to find

Am I alone here, in my mind?

The foul enigma solved, no logic to be found

A whirling chaos only, whirling and profound