i do not fear much angel, welcome home.
Cause I'm just Marshall Mathers
I'm not a wrestler guy
I'll knock you out if you talk about me
Come and see me on the streets alone
If you assholes doubt me
And if wanna run your mouth
Then come and take your best shot at me
save perhaps that you are not truly there,
just a vision of my past.....
On the Stage
In the past, the world was perhaps a wiser place, despite its lack of scientific knowledge, or its great technology, or the complexity that today plagues our world as much as it advances it. Are the dark ages truly dark, or just a time when such was the world that there was no need for glaring neon lights, the heart knew its way without the blaring symbols of modernism. Can you trace the years back to when the unicorn walked free, with noble visage un-lined by care or burden, when the lithe form of silver would flash across a flower sprinkled field beneath a liquid ray of sun, or ghost across a moonlit clearing with the radiance of a fallen star? The years are as many as the rings of a giant oak, lost in time the memories have all but faded from our culture, to the point where all we remember is a glory that we can no longer grasp, and our world is dimmer for the failure. For they were lost, as all to often the most beautiful and innocent of things are, tarnished by a touch to acid for its beauty, by a carelessness that should never have been. And we mourn them, though it is too late for tears....
Flames of cold humor leap up to greet the words of the dryad, recognising with a sarcastic glimmer of joy the sharp wit of her command, and the bleached one allows his muscled carcass to obey the simple words, stepping forth from the mists, transforming as he comes. The ghost of the enshrouding fog becomes the solid warrior of ivory, stepping forth with a confident yet ever so grounded air, sculpted skull rising with a smooth movement that crowns the icicles that are forward with a diadem of stars that are hanging, barely distinguishable in the mist. Blank voids for a second shimmer with something else, some chuckling feeling, but its swallowed as the bastard draws near, lungs inhaling a large draught of the sea air, trapping in it the musk of the past that emenates from the duchess. Words are not easy for the zombie, and the fall of the elements has perhaps only forged harder his reluctance to be with those that may be gone the next day, but nevertheless, there's a warmth in those rusted whispers that spill onto the atmosphere for her harks only...
Recorded in: Leviathan Sea
By the: Royal Guard
Stage Crew: Chained Angel, Regicide, The Shining
Back-up Vocals: Nemesis, gld Karida
In dedication to: the only bytch to provide the drugs my soul desires, Hells Steal
Featuring: Mirage, Flood
Cast the record in: Bronze
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i do not fear much angel,