There is a city in the world with a torn out street,
Where the people are torn between their lips and teeth,
In broken homes, on salted shoulders,
With rasping tongues and crackling lips

Ouroboros Ouroboros
Soroboruo Soroboruo

Sulphurous distaste of the mind,
Degenerate, disintegrated air,
Vile of thought and thistles,
Effervescent on streets of doubt

Like lampposts at twilight
Held warm at winter’s heart;
Luminations blind to noise
Of pearls and furs in perfect poise

Weep Salamander, Weep Salamander
Weep, Weep, Weep for
Alexander

I who sat upon the throne of Kings,
I who spat at the Wise Man’s speakings,
I am king no longer but of the ground,
And nobody kneels for me.

Zosimus
Swept the desert sands,
In hopes to find the garnet stone,
He found nothing but a lump of coal
And on the sands he kept on searching
Till he found his heart at the bottom of a snake pit
At the bottom of the snake pit
Prying love with solemn hands, he could not differ
What writhes and pulses in the stirring dark?
He breathed the song of ash and crept into the fallow wind.
Heartless and filled with venom spit,
He lost his Pride at the bottom of the snake pit.

On the rocks where Jonah stood,
Clay feet and hands of glass;
Let the waves break against him,
In hope that they might chastise him

Pleading,
O Mother O, do not forsake me
Please Mother Please, let the water take me.

In the bell jar,
The Nightingale discords,
Hallow, softly broken men
The man of Crete leads with a heavy heart
Yet cannot still raise his arms
Rome was not built on Martyrdom

So swear sinister, by the left hand
Stain your feet with the hearts of men
Lay your fingers bare,
So that they may come again

Dance on marble floors
Where the censers used to bow as they did before
Time stood vexed in amber jars
And watched the silent skies pour unto silken crowns
Their tranquilla doves and emeralds sparse
Lay decadent on marble floors
Where they never danced, they never poured
They never sang a single chord
Melancholy nature is,
The truth behind
What is left unwound
The rest is all a lie.

It is no fault in time
My Masonic Mind
Chose to purge the world from the inside
Of a child’s heart
Checkers, Checkers
A Chequered floor and Chequered Sky
Drowned Jonah’s world in Red and White
Cleansed the bell that sounds at dawn,
Eyes as wide as shadows long
And with the spectral dust come tears.

In the end,
What will be left at all?
But Blood upon Vermillion.