I worship the solstice, the coming of death, of things thought dead awakening. I worship the blood of all things living my pleasure. My pain the substance I crave. I worship the nothingness which fills my head of hells dark intentions, of hells cold bed. I worship the death that I drink every night, dark red putrid rotting with in. I worship my family with my dark heart. I worship the garden the life of the savage beauty, the lust, the love, the passion fulfilled.