Who Speaks Spanish - Colon Quesadilla

This cold floor we know too well. hearts poisoned with pride.
black blood dotting our warmth.
ending our contentment.
this place is a contorted altar.
I must seek strength from somwhere,
for ive reduced myself to nothing. we've been here one thousand times.
cold idle hands, floor-welcomed knees.
hello autumn- I need not your companionship. doubtless I stand;
laying my heart into the hands of eternity.
revive me doctines!
await the day, when all our blood will wash away.
the world's balance I'm too familiar with;
selfishness outweighs genorosity
blindness produced by your own hands afront your face.
lips bleeding with guilt.
frightful little fiends.
if these words mean nothing; than where is the conclusion?
lyricism aside, Christ is the deduction