Ghost Bat

Rising above the lip of a transitory mercurial urn, a bat leans back its head and stretches its fingerwings and dissipates into gusts, where it mingles with Aristotle and Plutarch and a transcendental aardvark, and listens to amaranthine black metal in preparation for the eternal black metal singalong. Touch it, melt in it, manhandle it, break it, submerge it, make love to it, single it out, leave it bleeding, singe its extremities, gnash its features, boil it, peel its heart, sell it, breathe it, listen to it:

Zzzz by jeffreypaggi

Jeff Paggi ft. the Psycho Choir and the Batclouds of Gotham and ghostbat I guess. Are you immensely pleased.