temporary profanity

it dawned on the night that the cold and bloody light of day were close. and so was the inevitable. the smoky smell predicted the end of the centuries and all hearts were trembling accordingly. no one was speaking. all you could hear were breaths: heavy old ones, young excited ones, womanly gasping with amazement ones, even restricted held up breaths, but no words at all. and this was a first for the small bar on Tavelina Street where noise used to rattle on in neverending swirls of prating. this time there was no need for the usual. the day of the prophecy had arrived. he was going to appear. the greatest warrior of all, the one that turned ears into heavy transporters of imagination and hearts into bleeding vessels of passion, was going to be embodied as predicted into the last song on earth