Pale Brethren
The Serpent Inquisitor
Meajsty, broke the bread in two
Etched in it a caricature smiling wickedness
Frothing vulture leering from the fire
Miscarriage of phoenix!
Rises on pallid wings
Pray be the air that taketh it
Divorced from beyond, spun from silt
Foul breath, stringent
Be cast and dispel
Lest distraught the blooming fields
May thy bowels rot
Poison what is left of thy insipid fetish
The burning smoke of it
Raise me to the outer
Circle the moon and be forever in search of the true brethren
My trail, ashen in wake, a path for all to see
Return will I, my cycle is tenfold
Yet to be seen here
They are to come
Dispatch thy monarch
Burn thy altars
We are, they are...