See the boy walk in orange dunes
Alabaster pillars rising to the red stars
His grey eyes see everything 
in shades of winter
and turn rain to hail

Carcosa lies ever to the west
as far as the boy walks the city floats equal
He prays, to the King in Yellow
"Father, let me home"

The desert sands shift
and neon-lit beetles guide his way to the altar
Obsidian statues of primordial Old Ones 
raise their too long arms to the night sky
lit by five red moons

A whisper to the boy from the Yellow King
sends arctic winds through his small frame
his mop of black hair stands straight up
A word, whispered from Father to Son
From the King in Yellow to the Lost Prince,
"Ish"
Ish, Prince of Carcosa,
gifted with his name,
opens his red cat-eye,
the third
and the Obsidian statues crumble
and the desert sands swirl
and the neon-beetles fall dead
and Ish grins

Chistmas in prison
Christmas out at sea
Christmas round the in laws
Christmas alone with me

Christmas at the wainwrights
Christmas in the I.C.U
Christmas in Carcosa
Just the yellow king and you

He won't dress as Father Chrimbo
In his tattered robes he'll stay
As he eats all time and space
No prezzies he'll display

He won't watch vintage two ronnies
As the black stars rise
And in terrible twin sunlight
Your soul will be his prize.

Dance upon
the broken shores
of Great Carcosa,
where Silence
plagues the
calloused ghosts
who wither,
whispering
along the wharf.

They dance
for Him,
our Yellow King,
whose misery
creeps
over brittle fields
and rotting crops
stinking in an
amber sun.
Boardwalks crumble
‘round rusted nails
hammered down
by the last to be
forgotten.

Here the
dying wolf
has sharper
teeth,
even as the
stinging wind
rips the fur
from its flesh.

Dance upon
their crackling
bones
in salted air
to the roar of
the mad
and the crashing
of the lost.

His Eye will
see
and You shall
hear
His song
upon Your
lips.