Allegoria: Madame Messiah.

My soul, a thousand tectonic plates converge, masticating and regurgitating, leaving blackened hope and withered woes from those that chose with ease, but to endeavour - I speak: a chant, a hymn upon a prayer, fluent, as if a tome had been opened and incipit spoken. Hear me at the altar, my second father, I reject you and all your nefarious ways. In tow with a modicum of hope, I promise to falter to the end of days.

And into the shadows where chaos reigns: profane, sin and pain. I tremble before you, fighting not for light but for when dawn breaks and fire hits a spire; like a funeral pyre, an entanglement of light and darkness. So this my soliloquy, my fervent words, are those of mellifluous desire to persuade the fallen one, to romance his sinful heart and to let this deal be done.

I hear the prophetic tales from the angelic beast, foretelling the deeds of flesh: "forcibly and with malice, suffering from infernal madness. Onlookers, these rapscallions, lamenting the perpetual decay, with fire all around, this is where you're sure to stay." But now, this path has been chosen, to settle in Pandemonium, to be remembered as a child of the first father, to wear the crown, wipe my blackened tears and bleed in his righteous name.