It's all happening now, it's taking form. The four horsemen are ready for war. Burning so deeply, it's eager to please. Until that moment of weakness: There's no pleading. No ease.

Too little, too late. Dear bitter-sweet.

I adore it.
I loathe it.
So fertile.
So faint.

It's the offering to your god. The extortion of innocents. Only stronger it grows; I'm the complicity to the sin.