This infinite Library of Babel, it is yours...
Lucifer, the fallen angel,
Almost Human
You are the conductor of this dissonant symphony
Master dream weaver
you make my realities a nightmare too
Verdant velvet Victorian waistcoat
Dressed to the nines of the nineteenth century
Perfectly trimmed.
Icy pools below you sound the screams of the seventh hell damned.
Your music!
And you laugh
Spider-Silk hair dancing in your own breeze
A Dr.'s familiar face?
Oh why torment me?
Do I amuse you? Do I interest you?
Oh why shatter my hall of mirrors?
Sending my thoughts scattered in the breeze
Dredging up these monsters and demons
Torturing my good and nursing my evil
Why present me these tomes?
All random letters
The products of every monkey's attempts to write Hamlet
This truly is the Library of Babel
Ghosts of damned thinkers wandering, mumbling
Looking for their works
Empiricists and Romantics
Joining and joined together in their quest for meaning
A vain search through encyclopedias of randomness
And all you do is watch,
combing your spider-silk hair with your fingers
reveling in the suffering you have created
for the justly damned
and unjustly
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