The darkness devours his compassion. Alone at night,
wearing a red and gold robe, he sits in his sacred chair
and contemplates the snake, the spiraling evil that
surrounds and smothers him in his private interior
courtroom.

After 50 years of passing Judgment, the Judge is an
empty receptacle, flesh without spirit, for the serpent
has swallowed the last vestige of his soul, a shard of
kindness swept away by the fierce winds of Judgment.

The old merciless Judge embraces a harsh Justice of
severity and restriction. Grinning sardonically in the
pitch-black darkness, he is fully aware of his power.
Perhaps, he thinks he is G-d. Of course, he does.

His vacant eyes gaze at the ancient snake that grips his
throat. And he eats his omnipotent delusions, the juicy
fruit of grandiosity. Inside his secret courtroom, the
raging fires of Justice burn the white and silver flowers
of Mercy buried deep in his wasteland.

The invisible fires burn throughout the soulless night.