God hides
Behind the trailing clouds
From the seer
And from his shapely shady sepulchral cynicism
It gets to him
Like his loss
Loss of power
And loss
(Anger reigns and now no more feeling of loss)

From the point of view of a mere mortal
This seems to be a fabulism
As the soul loses its gold
As it wishes to conquer aurium itself

The seer seeks permission to become the alchemist
To bring the God in the hearts of men and women
And God in their work and their mortal heir

Oh ***** that’s me
Thy expectations make me genuflect in obsequiousness
But, as the rage of the veiled forlorn crusade rages on
(Thy devoted matured follower shouldst not fight and let me do my bidding)
He barely manages a bow as he ripostes and hides
From the eyes of vicious genocide
But as this fearsome God manages to keep his cover from being blown
Thy Androgyny comes in many shapes and forms and memories of people
To test this loyal servant

To test like the serpent of ****** love
But he pollutes the platonic connection of God and man
And he falls to the steep mistake of his below-the-belt trick
From the scientific jester
(Awing everyone with his scientific gymnastics)
To a desperate trickster
Running from the path of Fate’s judging hand

The seer refuses to accept his victory
As he loses his love for you
(Fate destroys its oldest companion)
But the present seems too narrow for emotions
Relive the past and future written on Fate’s hand
To gain respect for Fate’s future actions
(I only complain about the traumatic present rather than the abstrusely illustrious past of the world)
Who knows what time brings to immortal Godly beings