A grigori walkin

Not everyone is a wise old dragon, what we need may be forms of medicine, to cure the fallen angelic contamination’s on our soul matrix’s resonance, in a world full of happenings and occurrences, a grigori walking by you in lock-step with Imhotep to ameliorate and cure your ailments, because these medicine-men with tinted perceptions, see through you, as these astral slit iris’s speak true you with visions from sibyls and witches initiated into the esotericism of the old religions, amidst rituals where Hecate will meet you, with teletes of els and fallen iri’s and glances of serpents in a hurry and crossroads and trickster deities these old gods guard the gates with, I am from the frigid mountainous north where there’s black portals and dragon races, with northern els of the frost mane that will annihilate shaitans, amassing henchman because we know all about what some of those sirians and snakes did, these giants are not timid when it comes to violence and will bring silence to a hiss, when a mountain speaks of those cliffs, this is for all those who do not look good in the wrong light, all those Martyrs falling from a crescent moon in this earthly plight, tensions embedded within these rhymes, between the draconic nephilim and the evadamic jotunheim