i tasted the fever of your existence seems like cold grain to my mouth i stand aside i stay away transmuting my quicksilver blood kia that i may see zos that i may touch insipid are the describing words the self needs no vulgar praise this worship has no supplications my rite is to live and do things naked pure of honest lust the throbbing vortex feeds on it all sleep is the best of possible prayers the winged eyes are blessed to see downtrodden deception of every torment trans pierced hymens my lust adores many images yet one raw flesh animal steps i love to tread an ideal point where time is space memory giant sores this journey must heal lady of mourning and her monsters lay down the scythes for here i come joyful and priapic my baby soul a new born one ten million years old