The dogs of Babylon rise, the dreaming children of Lucifer, who brings the sun, will the moon hide her face behind the dark, or come to light? They repent not, for their souls walk in eternal fire, neither ask if they're living, if their grieving suffers to internal admittance.
She said, "I dream of you, I seem of you, like fleeting shadow."
In the hall of heretics, devils laugh, falling upon one another in drunken stupor. Do they come to be, or do they exist in shadow, do they please, and appease the one who gave birth to their sacrament, do the tormented reel in cold oppression?
"He said, "I believe in you, I see in you, soulless glory."
The zone of hibernation, the mind's prison, when will the spirits awaken? Do the gods mock the sorrow of oblivion, or do they weep with regret? For in their time, they know not of fleshly desire, nor of the nightmare, which dwells within. Never lying, never dying, unable to feel the grip of the stalking specter.
She cried, "I live for you, I give for you, the child, abomination."
Electric sparking fire of the blue pathway, coursing through. How they come alive, or do they yet dream, and of the lucid realm where memories sleep on in frozen timelessness? None yet beg to be conceived, none yet relive the golden birth of heaven.
Lucifer repents, "I fall to you, I crawl to you, on burning, purple thorns."
When worlds burn, time comes to life, to death in a moment, or where stars go to sleep in blankets of space. Do they hold one another in night, or do they slumber in separation, forever apart, or just outside of arm's length? Will the light go on, or will it find rest? Calling to mother, calling to father, unable to hear God's voice.
Life was part of light, the ethereal warm, the womb where the soul dwells, or the tomb where past life dies. When she brings the torch, do they bow down in awe, or in fear, or hide where shadows exist, out of sight of the all seeing eye? How do devils dream, do they call out in their sleep to the mother of being? This night cries.
The moon recants. "To empty space I cry, to the void I try, my spirit no longer feels the grace of sun."
When it went down to sleep, it arose in morning, it did or didn't, or maybe it never was. The sheets that ghosts lie under, brings to comfort the joy that derives pleasure from suffering nightmares and from the intent, which the gods seek. Who wakes from sensual delights of the night before with no regret?
Babylon recalls. "Locked within her legs, trapped in her head, I gave myself, upon an alter of semen and sin, I felt the light of God on her breasts."
Without the limit, the heart of man devours reality, it can, and it cannot dwell within the confines of the flesh, when the fallen call out, the desires of the wretched sons, the whorish daughters of Elfin. The forgotten worlds,pray into the darkest skies, for the sins of the swine. Cast to the ether, they, which swim among the stars, fleeing the face of God.
