Ophitic doctrine

Each night it arrives from the empty horizon
Weary as time it sleeps in my well
It colours the walls and sighs like an old song
Then dies in its slumber at the sound of the bell

Its fangs prey for blood on the flesh of the ocean
Then dies in my water and poisons my crop
It rushes inside me with each cup of wine
It grows from my heart and leaves before dawn

With an ebony half moon and the breath of an old well
With the dagger’s memory and the atrocity of kisses
With the compass of faith and the map of the stars
I greet the advent of the serpent’s ordeal

Its fangs prey for blood on the flesh of the ocean
Then dies in my water and poisons my crop
It colours the walls and sighs like an old song
Then dies in its slumber at the sound of the bell

With a cabeirian prayer and a sibylic riddle of doom
With the persistent words of echoing ruins
Out of my catacomb labyrinth of orgiastic cold
I greet the advent of the serpent’s ordeal