We’ve seen incalculable odds against us. We’ve seen good friends and leaders succumb to suffocating pressure in the darkest of times. We’ve seen the eye of the Doomsday weapon. We’ve walked on the precipice of the infinite and continue to waltz with Death. Is it any wonder why our insanity is so focused now? For those who doubt our resolve, our gospel, prepare yourselves. The same madness that has claimed us will not spare you.

Its’ solitude knows no bounds…
Faces implying, promising fortune, inspiring, and giving hope to attract those unwilling to fight for something greater…
Once inside, the loving embrace gives way as the passion is thrown upon another fool listening to the same false promises that befell you…
We’ve all been attracted to the void and while some succumb to its’ whorish nature, others have grown sick of its’ perversion…
Those pilots, having experienced the sickness are in turn driven mad and now repulsed by their master’s black touch…
Alone again and adrift in space, your only companions are solitude, echo’s of relationships past, and certain death…
Looking upon your saddened visage you contemplate the unthinkable…
It is in this moment of weakness that you hear it…
A noise, buzzing in your ear…
You focus…
Anger and sickness have taken their toll not just upon you, but many…
They speak to you and you hear their gospel…
The mad sing in unison, focused and true…
No longer alone, the like-minded Choir accepts you…
Commit thyself to the Sanitarium and let your scream be heard