Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not
The curse of the elders shall leadeth them to thraldom
Over ye lands in ways that would not abide oil’s formulae
Be it for punishment or penitence
Through cleansing fire ye will ensoul masters splendour
For the forging of passages below the soil that thee stand
Hiddeth among many secrets, the shades of earth’s vigour shape the devouring yet endless garth
Its venom harvest these reverse bloodflowing currents
To feed his effigy in the roots
It tasted the bitter truth of the smoke, that pierceth the night of a thirteen pointed star
Unifying the twin flames
King and Queen as the serpent
To walk the nightside gardens sky must be silent
Its vessel empty for the first father
The first murderer, the first harvester
Contours the winds and vows the empyrean sight
To his prayerful sons