Pulling against the cold embrace of chains is futile
The rattling ceaseless
The form grows ashen pale
Does the faint dance of quivering candle light
Not beguile you?
Soothing, is it not?
The Symbols? A trifle
An overture to the crackling sound
Of sundered bone and tissue
Please understand your mind deceives you not
The ballad of scream and screech
The twirling of obsidian rag
And formless fog
Is but a reflection
Of that which you
Wish to see
True purpose for your form is found
In the delight
Of spreading crimson mark
Tearing tissue from flesh
Before the flaying
The cries debased to whimpers
Plaintive moans
As bulging stomach and protruding eyes
Herald the gangrene
Song of sinews’ noose
They shall adorn hall and altar
The putrid husk
Hold a banquet of soggy flesh
And rot
To feed the guests
Of a thousand tiny legs
Only then will you be purified