We were off beat generation. Without destination. Circling Circling pigs in the feed. We were not hunters. We gathered no rites. Laymen to nothingness. Spectres of Night. Feral cold wind. We were thieves from birth. Secret rhythms, epic tomes. Voyages of of blind apostles. Roaming the desert forlorn. A prince of princes, a King of kings. I look inside your hollow eyes vapid remorse. The glory of your birthright, I place squarely upon your head.
The House of Raven 🐦⬛ 