Foul winds through utopia

Back on the track with a slithered attack of grief
We are
Side by side with the nights as voyeurist thief
We awake…

Trodden to the floor, rotten to the core
My sultry eye seeks more
Windows to boudoir, tongues that force encores
And darts to the arts that are
Rotten to the core, trodden to the floor
My lipless mouth seeks more
Kisses from the corpse, necromantic thoughts
And darts to the arts that are
Grave, windswept…

Blow! Blow our name
Set the world aflame in covetous games
And the
Pain pours as rain to regain what they stole
From us

Glad to gladiate the damned…
And he throws his inner sanctum
Into this vast area
Fodder to the saints and lions
That as in fever
Deflesh, obsessed
By bestial savageness
And crash the crest
Of waves of appetite

And I, one of them
Would die to pleasure them

Cold hands writhe for prayers
Mock in colder stone
Weaving lay and layers
Frenzied, alone
Whetting thy dear brushers
Paint the pack's town red
A phoenix from the gashes
Heal this gangrene

Trodden to the floor, rotten to the core
Decline's ambassador
Hymns to the bizarre sounding from afar
Bewinged by the winds that

Blow! Blow our name
Set the world aflame in covetous games
And the
Pain pours as rain to regain what they stoke
From us…

There's so much beauty that was sown
The fruits of heaven reaped by carnal autumn storms
There's too much beauty to prolong
The chants of virtue when vice could rise this pleasure dome