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de Ion Miles

"Heaven is where or when the Devil is losing everything at a poker game, even Vice is laughing at him... pointing fingers.
And Now, he's waiting alone in the street, completely broke and homeless.
On the verge of collapsing to the inevitable...

Even the Angels are looking down on him with pity, yet not a soul dares to help him, (the looser, the first One to have ever been cast aside).
He's thinking about suicide.
The funny thing is, unlike us, he doesn't have a choice. Evil cannot die..."

Raindrops are weeping, and I'm a storyteller; I'm covered with rust and falling apart like an old '69 Chevy truck.
I have a lot to say if you're willing to bear with the unpleasant scent of misery and nostalgia.

How low can it get, when you suddenly realize that what you've been listening to (for the last ten minutes or so) through the old transistor radio behind the bar counter, was a disco version of Beethoven's 9th Symphony.

I wanna kill myself right here and now.
How socially dead of me. [Alias]

Could it be the alcohol that drank me out?
It feeds on your soul y'know?

From the other side of the looking glass, imagine a philosophy, that is a sardonic aftermath of everything I've lived so far.

Solace was just a prelude of things worse to come...

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