enter the tether where the midnight sun burns itself alive and bleeds through the thicket of raven colored clouds she will castigate herself on the lives of ill fated men and women and paint their palates the color of mass genocide of sadistic forms. you will watch as a substance that plunges into the cerulean sea turning the opaline hue to an inky swath stained with gothic lore; then and only then will knees tremble and the earth cataclysmically began to cry— it splits itself open and drowns in salt tears it weeps and wilts for its own destruction it begs for the day of ESCHATON and the high woods will whisper tales of inglorious gore: hark the fallen angels with bleeding shins and broken jaws and you will hear that THIS IS THE PLANET WHERE DREAMS GO DIE