The soul of the dead ruler might climb to the sky  drawn their sins suspended on helical tombs  in foreground rises the creepy shape of the unholy ones  larvae's covering waiting for rebirth's sign  enter an encysted hibernation  Empery's necrofarmers cultivate these inseminoids  but what they do with their harvest lifeless  no one knows even if they will see the light of day  immerge their scabbards on glacial calabooses  enter an encysted hibernation  A memmified oval spheroid  emulsify at the archaic towers  beside the vast upper regions  the started the crooked devolution    Evanesce the unfruitful heatless  conservation on encapsulation  glorify their cavernous necrotheism  they will never conquer my astral body.