Slave / Awake in the tumult / Bray / Bold for a lost sun / Here / In the gut of

the tempest

Chains / Wither away / And in this incarnation / The storm has sent it forth a

/ Slave

To boil back with a dark love / Rage / In ceaseless cycle / A mantra / To bide

into curses

And break open / On the caustic current / And in its deconstruction / The storm

has fashioned it

A son — Quake, stoop / Such things hang about his shoulders / Shimmers of

Perdition

Caught between brush strokes and the oil / Shake, Grow / Feed upon your burdens

For, beneath that fragile colour / A pearl in the friction slows

Wave — you vapours / You refracted, wandering lights / mere tears in a canvas

of saturating blight

His core, this Caliban, of barren rooms sewn up / And stare afflicted by / some

greatness in decay

And I would be burned / (I would be burned) / By the flails behind / (flails

behind)

Those boiling windows / Where a ravenous spawn (ravenous spawn) / forsakes its

skin

(forsakes its skin)

In silent struggle / And where all light tapers out / and a dark horizon is

spread / Fevers of his fierce design

In sable tremors tread / In blasted cacophony / In will out of agony wrought /

He thrives in the torment

His inimical whispers like birds / Raise in the eye / Ravenous spawn / Forsakes

its skin