Who Speaks Spanish, Colon Quesadilla

This cold floor we know too well. hearts poisoned with pride.
Black blood dotting our warmth.
Ending our contentment.
This place is a contorted altar.
I must seek strength from somwhere,
For I’ve reduced myself to nothing.
We’ve been here one thousand times.
Cold idle hands, floor-welcomed knees.
Hello autumn, I need not your companionship.
Doubtless I stand; laying my heart into the hands of eternity.
Revive me doctines!
Await the day, when all our blood will wash away.
The world’s balance I’m too familiar with;
Selfishness outweighs genorosity
Blindness produced by your own hands afront your face.
Lips bleeding with guilt.
Frightful little fiends.
If these words mean nothing; than where is the conclusion?
Lyricism aside, Christ is the deduction