1. |
A Crone's Reptilian Eye
07:34
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Halt your confessions, for the wilderness watches your penance
The piety of self-flagellation leads you to the doorstep of the witch
A fire in the woods is nothing to the black that encroaches eternal
In the sickly glow of the candle, fat and bone of infants becomes fuel
Like churned butter, entrails coat the outline of a demon
A babe condemned to ceaseless flame
The smell of hops hides blood and melting bone
Her languid shape suckles from the sheep, smearing crimson cross ivory wool
Fetid milk, nourishment to feast the familiars on the blood of the labia
The raven’s jaw mutilates grieving breast
Break his jaw, tear out his teeth
An orgasm of prayer, an expulsion of life
You were always so fucking proud
And now entombed in your arrogance you lie
There is no wolf, just defiance
The satyr’s gift is upon me, and I soar up to the moon in the company of my sisters
And I am free
Look deep into the reptilian eye of the crone, and see only exuberance
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2. |
Shivering Residue
06:46
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Dying but not recognised
As you shivered, I did not
I only saw you bloated and off-colour
A wax doll, soon to be ablaze
These streets your streets. Residue.
So much left to share. Residue.
Constricting and biting
This frigid leeching doom
Deprived of sweet prosperity
Bitter sickness blooms
Your own handiwork now marks your grave
The wine infiltrating the earth
A canvas remains unpainted
The marble remains unsculpted
Shivering residue
But I own my wounds
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3. |
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How in a so-called modern country is a baby found dead in her mother’s arms
Choked of clean air in the corridor, as the blaze devastates your domain
Cyanide veins and a stillborn, a casket two-hundred feet high
They are woken to flee but better left asleep
Now they die panicked and screaming in a tomb
You call it an eyesore? What of charred and blackened skin?
What of bodies strewn round the tower, riddled with trauma and broken bone?
The flame tears through the outskirts, your gleaming plastic facade
A conflagration of timber and the flesh of undesirables
How do your investments look these days?
Sociopaths and charnel scavengers, a coven of leeches feeding on decay
Years of greed and complacency conspire, efforts to hide those on which they prey
The husk still casts a shadow, its ashes sicken the air
Hold a torch to the leech and its gorged body bursts, the others scatter in fear
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4. |
An Hourglass Catacomb
10:03
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Your breath is wasted here from the very first that you take
You would do well to stifle it from the start
Crucified but denied martyrdom
For any futile cause, for the womb ties all in thrall
Your kin cannibalize and consume all but dust
Yet are consumed by the sand that buries and cuts
Slashing through skin but drawing no blood
As it all it reveals is an empty promise
Locked in this linear cage
Confined and incarcerated by walls shrouded by oppression
Seemingly in reach but truly cold in their distance
A promise to never let you even graze salvation
A dawn devoid of light and an end slipping into dusk
They widen as they approach their close, a promise of black tranquillity
And yet all in-between is turmoil and toil
And the skulls that line your path
Encased in a crypt that perpetually fills but never grows
And as a gaze turns skyward swaying shapes come into focus
Miles of hanging bodies strung like gutted pigs
Their necks broken in exquisite jutting shapes
As they drift like silent stars in a night sky
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