Face down where the ancient soil meets the discarded flesh, the great stench of all that is rotten, and forgotten, the unburied clamber into what you were, feasting on the joy that is stolen forever, alchemy of disgust and hatred, the unceremonious, the smell of all final moments at once, embedded in the great beasts flesh, the carrier of the tormented, the final journey through the impossible, a silence so vast, that deafens with its roaring certainty, to the unnamed places, guarded by the ancient carrion and their minions of vomit and pestilence.
Rotted light comes from a dark, impure, uncomforted path to the mind, aching and clawing it's way through rotten, discarded flesh of thousands of dead gods, sharks stomachs and intestines of small woodland animals' blood strewn across the night ground, leaving no trail of redemption for the rotten, stinking stench of your Unholy pasture. Hail! The ruler of Hell. It is here of your malicious sovereignty for us to step in this world of shit, devouring the blood of the eyes. In these sewer of sulfur, we, your unholy parish, gather to feast with disgust and deranged joy, over all the world. Come to us, so together we can rule over these weaklings. We can use you as a tool in Your final plan. Hail Satan! The year is one... God is DONE!