Live how you want, just don’t feed on me if you doubt what I say, I’ll make you believe. Shallow are words from those who starve, for a dream not their own to slash and scar
Left bereft of your brother, ashes of your memories shared a bond with words and music.
You closed your eyes and sank within yourself, reliving the gift of vibrant pain, for all great art is made for suffering.
Popular culture ignorantly dubbed your progenics Death Metal. Oblivious to the tempestuous explosion of life’s ambiguities hidden within.
In the extremities of masterful cacophony, I heard life, but like a long sustaining note of a virtuous soliloquy, you dissolved into infinite obscurity.