Preview
Maybe it's the delirium
Of my morbid ratio
Or that voice that lies
Deep in my intimate self
To allow this swimming
Through the lymphs of victims
While dark reigns over
The sons of putrefaction!
Crucify!
Father of sons all deformed
That like a ghastly stream
Surge out
Through the rusted gates of time
- A deaf dumd eyeless throng
Laughing forever
But smiling no more
The god absent
Or still