From Pawn to Bishop

I see you, and you are not grey.  You function higher than a robot, but there is depression underneath.  You have had to cleanse all things.  You my strike me as McVeigh.  Maybe I know nothing, but I know that you need a year to hunt, 1,2,3,1,2,3.  You can be all three, but you pick a person for that few days.  You will turn yourself inside out, and find yourself in L.A.  A sado masochistic mistress there will be your host for a week for free because of the notoriety your prowl will have gained.  She is the toast of the town now.  They are all under her spell.  Your prowess will rise, show itself, and release the hatred for Wiccan THIEVES like her.  She marks EVERYTHING of yours for her.  At the end of the day, you will go your separate way, and she will remain there, in misery, on the street, people spitting on HER for free.  You will be emancipated and will never have to question your sexual choices again.  You will be the purist of snow from a grand party thrown for you by Christ Almighty in NYC.  Grab my hand, and let's begin.  I will love your mind, to infinity and beyond the black hole of Alderon.  You are now alive and a part of THE GAME.