Dreams upon the scaffold

The leaden god of depression
Spitting out his stones
Spiraling in an incalculable trajectory
A fiery conjunction
Of two trinatarian worlds
Merged in the seal of Solomon
Crying vultures circle above
The piercing halo of a hooded master appears
Weaklings lie in wait
In a spirit of hopeless resignation
Behold the black banner
Palaces will turn into ruins
Let a tomb therefor be dug
To end the inevitable
Weaklings in unbearable suspense
That they be put on trial
That they be imprisoned
That they be executed
Coffins to be filled
An indionsyncratic path to follow
Lumbers ever onward
Towards a cavernous cosmic hell inside