At the end of the world there is a river.
No fires, no roaring oblivion of
Devils and demons:
Just a river - but a swollen river,
A famished river, a hungry river
With a gluttonous appetite which
Can never be sated.

And it whispers:

     Feed me,
     Feed me,
     Feed me,
     Feed me.

The river flows and surges against
The banks of the world, rushing upon
Hidden tides, all swollen and huge
With mud and debris
And dirt and death.

And it whispers:

     Feed me,
     Feed me,
     Feed me
     Feed me.

And as it bursts its banks, its eager
For you and all the world, so hungry,
That ravenous river, and it hauls and
Tugs, wrenches and pushes against
The shore and out, across the fields
Through the cities, the towns,
And still that whisper

Comes calling:

     Feed me,
     Feed me,
     Feed me,
     Feed me.

And that caressing river sound is a
Hypnosis that speaks into your soul,
And you cannot move, will not move,
Because it is already inside you,
And at the end of the world you
Feed yourself to the river but it is not

Enough, and still



The whisper of:

     Feed me,
     Feed me,
     Feed me
     Feed me.

And as it laps against your ankles, creeps
Up, up, up - so hungry, so nearly satisfied,
You hear it's voice and know very
Well that you have heard it all your life,
That the river at the end of the world has
Always whispered, always spoken to you:
In the silence of the night, in your dreams,
Your memories, at dawn, at dusk

It whispered:

     Feed me,
     Feed me,
     Feed me
     Feed me.