Stale lives, creeping death.
Walking throu the labrynths of a purgatory.
Minds erased, minds in waste, the end of taste has come.
The dragging growls of evernearing fate, spills from room to room. 31 more words
Tags » Dying
I regularly tell my ministerial partners at Northway that no Sunday morning can afford to be wasted, no worship service can be approached as if it were unimportant or inconsequential, and no sermon is ever just an empty exercise that can be approached without passion, conviction and even urgency. 1,229 more words