Who do I have to kill?The reply of the Lord
What lies do I have to tell?
Who do I sell my soul to, oh Lord?
I am all powerful
Don’t be miserable
Take up your handgrenade
And take control, yeah
[By 4.15, I could no longer see the earth
By 4.17, the last angels had bid me farewell and I was racing through the interstellar void towards the face of god.
Frost began to gather on my wings. It was bitterly cold, and it was dark. Blackness, with the icy pinpoints of stars: in every direction, forever.]