Arcadia, or what is now spliced of aeons' great

Gates of gold that rust in hate

Islands on grim sulfur lakes;

I have no demeanors that wait

They've left and gone away

To the rise of demise and acid rain

Where epidermis boils

Quintessence abolished and spoiled;

Grand scent of desiccant

Miff's so indelicate

Caveats and feats of nothing; No rise

My apotheosis' hellish paradise