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The princess treaded lava filled water as she watched the diamond-like eyes of the indians dancing the prairie nigger dances on rich white men as they die. She enjoyed the show but lacked proper knowledge of the polyrhythmic words the hunters shared for her. She ran from the area with the sun beaming on her back and she arrived in a small land unlike that she was used to. The indians continued to bleed for their own imaginations and the blood continued to produce the trees. A wild forest was made and it spanned from sea to sea. Eventually it reached the great golden city and there was where the princess dwelled. The city invested it's own entrails with blood diamonds and savage animals. Wolves climbed the vegetation and trees and made their way onto the starry sky. They merged and touched each other, and created the night sky. When the gold doesn't shine from the city the wolves crazy orgy is revealed, night. The trees swelled the gates and the masters of old scripture gave up on discovering a plausible cure. Their bones were frail and weak and the savage men roamed free. Indians took their land and gold and with it made their own empire upon bones and meat. Northern men came in form the mountains and stole from the indians, and the princess cried the golden cities into oceans. The gold was rusty now and the indians were tired. Old men gave way to youth and youth grew old and gave way again. Few survived the tense wars between the fairy children and the diamond goblins of the forest but the survivors grew hesitant for what they would discover upon their arrival into other free lands. They carried the bones of the dead on their backs and travelled to the cities of health and youth. There they gathered up the people of virtue and burned them, eating their rusted and boiled skins. No peaceful man remained in the world and no one mourned it. The wolves of the night gave up their gypsy orgies and the youth of night itself crumbled. Day was rusted and old and twilight, uncertainty itself, ruled. Plants gave way to the coldness and the surviving warriors ate their own meat. Upon rediscovery by alien men they were figured into caves and chased down to rivers. Men carried their bones on their backs and sailed down the rivers. The savages had left the world. The Golden Roman Men made settlement upon the dried and boiled skin of the dead and made shelter upon the rusted gold of day. The Men made ancient scriptures of magic and unleashed upon the sky a healing ray. The sky grew golden and youthful and the wolves came out from hiding and vigorously climbed to the heavens. Princes chased the stars higher and higher and they themselves had their ashes spread through the cosmos. Their blood is written in the sky and so is the blood of many others. The bones of the savages are written in the sky as well, seen at dusk. The meat of the weak was launched into the golden day, and grew old and moldy, creating clouds of old, only to deteriorate more over time. These clouds are written in the sky. The wine of the spoiled is also written in the sky. Drunkenly poured onto it's gold by the fools. The spoiled's stains are in the sky. This story is in the sky as well, written out in ancient scriptures from the city of gold, melded into itself upon it's boiling and scratching. These eyes are the sky, and this mouth is the sky's writing.