I tasted the fever of your existence 

Seems like cold grain to my mouth 

I stand aside, I stay away 

Transmuting my quicksilver blood 



Kia - that I may see 

Zos - that I may touch 

Insipid are the describing words 

The self needs no vulgar praise 



This worship has no supplications 

My rite is to live and do 

Things naked, pure, of honest lust 

The throbbing vortex feeds on it all 



Sleep is the best of possible prayers 

The winged eyes are blessed to see 

Downtrodden deception of every torment 

Transpierced hymens my lust adores 



Many images yet one raw flesh 

Animal steps I love to tread 

An ideal point where time is space 

Memory giant sores this journey must heal 



Lady of mourning and her monsters 

Lay down the scythes for here I come 

Joyful and priapic my baby soul 

A new-born one, ten million years old