Beautiful LastHist 1&2 from The Sandstone Epi-Tome

'The Sandstone Epi-Tome details the origin story of a delicate, far-future world, significantly more innocent than our own.'

BEAUTIFUL LASTHIST:

1

O! Creening seas! Career the stilching foam before what eyes rescue! There are but starries and naughtnesses in the ea. And loam he stands, He, that briskety, that maloudinence, that croached filibastard of the Lord, divine in such a mottled solution! He summons here the oceans, the pacia-atlanticites hording up from the bruttled overswash, the trintiias with vile, the leams of Crausatugas with spite, et the Drodonan brutes in swiddling uripenance.
Di! Each of thome rednesses curdle at lordish robes and He that look looketh only up, to naigre rainpuffs and twistling stams, to grove beyond groves, et to the bewild'ring eye of Gott.
Tri! Hes optics darkled in the track they bore; His heady aburned to its with'ring core; et His spirit wept with the sulcrum chore.
And on his soly Dau he mumbleth; "Don us that this straine is dreamt, Don us that it live nay more...pray, Gott..."
And hes lips drink at the schreaming ayr, on the drowned iea, where voxims die in the terraurigg vent, and pedals crumple 'fore what fate is sent.




2
"Omn is done," gezegd, "thes plaine is wet. Its lacrimance has drawn an ending sigh, its tremorance cast a final die, its mowing hence a blacken'd skie; omn is done, omn is done, omn is done."

Et the leams beamed and sung in throng, the hymnal song;
"Gott love ye, Gott bless ye,
sancta maria orata,
sancta maria prorata."

"Omn havst laurted, omn are slaurted; Omn is done, Omn is wept, Omn is done!"

Et the viles foamed with fangs they sang, dark klokkeklang;
"Gott love us, Gott bless us,
nob omne soror',
nob omne tsoror'."

"Omn ist spenteth, hope last wenteth, here I venteth; Omn is done, Omn is wept, Omn is done!"

Et silentias, silentias, as each is unthrust and subsides in that silence to where the grasses grow, at the beds of the waters; in the hallow pool, in the dying crutch, the sorrowed sole. Et naught was known, and he thought naught was done.
But the skie wraughd and broughd its word; "By the sun, omn is done, omn is done. All is done, little one, all is done." And deepst there, man fell, for he knew 'twas the vox af Gott, and spoke for he.