This is what happens when you start thinking about the futility of life while listening to Cannibal Corpse.


He stood shrouded in his mantle of shadows, inhaling the sweet smells of the battlefield. The smell of bone and steel, the smell of shit and blood. The smell of death. A thousand thousand dead lay here, and a thousand thousand carrion feasted on them, crows and vultures fighting over scraps, ripping eyes from sockets and ligament from bone, and others came after them, hyenas and wolves, snarling at each other as they cracked bone and tore meat. Beneath them were the tiny ones, the worms and the insects and the fat maggots. And after this they would return unto dust, and their names and causes and kingdoms would be forgotten, and they would become remembrances, and stories, and legends, and myths, and shadows in a distant past, and then be lost forever.

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