I am birthed from an egg in the forbidden land,
standing proud I stretch my arms out wide.
I open my eyes and open my heart,
emoting memories pour into my cold mind.
And the flames, and the flames and the sacred flames.
carry me out to the infinite stars of knowledge,
to where the Twin Goddesses of Truth
petition the serpent to deceive the future.
The barge of the Gone Forever sails past
and it bows its bows to the flail and the sceptre,
turquoise and gold with the face of millennia,
its image forever burnt into my countless lives.
I, Mighty One of Enchantment,
now fly from the shell that holds my long sleep
to the thirteenth direction of my smile.
And the flames, and the flames and the sacred flames.

I beseech and invoke, with secret Words of Power,
the hidden wisdoms of the ancient spell.
I scribe, weighing words in their charm
to call forth the Magic of the Dark Night.
And the flames, and the flames and the sacred flames
of he who abides throughout all time,
consume me with a thousand thousand names,
and make me the Lord of All Laws.
All Hail! to the girdle of the stars.
All Hail! to the secret glyphs.
Guide my journey through the eternal time
and take my Sphynx as your devoted sacrifice.
I, Mighty One of Enchantment,
now sail my boat of millions of years
to the thirteenth direction of my smile.
And the flames, and the flames and the sacred flames.

Paint myself a stone.
Equipped to roam aesthetic empire.

I walk the street,
Peeling up the corners of posters
for those who reach toward victory over death,
to see the stone beneath.

The pedestrians beside me sulk in rain
so eternally present,
it's pulsing collisions with the pavement
have drummed it's echoes into the soundtrack.

Engines stirring.
Rain pouring.
Walkers chattering.

Unnoticed erosion.

I watch the posters bleed.
A warning of their shared fate with the stone.
Canaries painted up with the brightest feathers.
Monuments like gleaming limestone pyramids.

But we won't remember the feathers as bright.

We'll remember the colors bled out, when they're bled out.
The paint on our pantheon will wash to white marble.
And they'll re-remember it as white marble.
They'll re-remember the lustrous white
limestone as dirt and sand,
when its dirt and sand.
Our history will be rewritten, as its remembered.