TheTenebrianMachine

The Machine breathes. Two witnesses remain, visibly shaken by the Man that had come forth from the boundless, vacant sea. Tremors resonate within the Planet, an embryo of mechanical virulence coiling and blooming like a putrid flower, flowing like a putrid dress. He who has eyes to see, the Witness One, weeps in a sullen heap of ash. The door in the wall, the bodies chamber, the ancient prison- Abattoir symbols, parasitic pugilism. The Dream is dead, but the witnesses dream yet. They sleep in the womb-capacitor, dreaming only of the Mother. They lust for this vision, and the Vision lusts for them.

The influence of the Machine is ever reaching. Dreams are deluded, thoughts are clouded. Dream only of it, for it dreams only of you.