choirs of voices trill from the void
a myriad of tongues of a slithering god
crawl through the fracturing mind
constricting and tainting the essence
like an iron yoke or a crown of delusion
crown fit for a king
I sank in the womb of the maelstrom
gestating in its poignant mental muck
now is the time of eclosion
second coming of the ziggurat
subdue or be crushed
I have rattled the kettle drums
I have journeyed the path to gnosis
I have awaken from stupor
and crossed from destrudo to epignosis
through uncharted shores
yet I found no meaning
to this divine persecution
neither in dearth nor in plentitude
my gaze found naught but rot
I am no mouth for His ears
yet here I am on this scaffold of mockery
awaiting trial and rapture
where my brothers and sisters be?
have into poppies they turned 'fore me?
No, there they stand, and there they laugh
as theyβre ripping my heart into pieces