Diaries Of Primeval Tragedies (Bishop Of Hexen)

Angry are the clouds which anesthetize Former besetting episodes of assertive pain An overwhelming blend of harmonious mirth & awe Proclaims with much pride-dawn's out bursting rage Cometh ye all astounded faces I plea to thee-hear me now or nevermore Poor puzzled pieces of human wreckage Your wounds of heart & soul may heal-when shared Surround me with your precious presence My only request for now-is your dearest patience Cull the words which portray your might From miserable tiny pebbles-to stones of awesome sights From rotting pallets filled with mold & mice From grey hidden corners contaminated by the diseases of the soul which dies Red shiny ink spills our luxuriant opera on-yellow dusty pages Bathe with sweet nectar flowing from-aching mind-cages Looking back-glaring at life All these years of death-from Christs murderous knife The drought which, bit by bit, gnawed our pride- Insulting holy lies which poisoned meadows of the true dark-guide Absorb with joy-the sweet new blood Filling every heart-beat and instincts-slumber yet starved Find me your poets, bring forth your bards Let them sing kisses of evil to other world-parts I can hear the owl recite Diaries of primeval tragedies which confide Truth & knowledge of matters we must tend In theaters of witchcraft-we pretend The craving of dreams to form the prophecy Open vein-shaped roads resembling our complex-conspiracy The rythem of the march excite to tears in our eyes Don't other dare bark towards us-lest we rid them like flies See my trembling cut open fingers They remind me of the incredible secret which still lingers Free yourself from all those lies which are told so often For now our referendoms web-is catiously woven Follow that trail left by the witches-most dark & pale Embellish poetry in veins to breed- Together to submerge & sublimely-bleed Restless retch anchors of holy clay And gather triumphs to harvest in the golden fields of may