---

When the trade had happened
they could barely notice
Acting undefeated
as if the breed were their own blood
Getting integrated
with the knowledge of it
as they feed it on enamel nail and bone
I can tell you confidently
that whatever you believe in
you would throw it all away
and beg a god in any heaven
to rid your brain of how it feeds

Taking the place of us
Our kind made to grow into
Ignis Nativitas
Hatching to immolate
Newly woken lit on fire
Many of them enter
Mended all together
Burning in a whaling alter

Defects erupt from the bowers
Competing without cause or intent
for a chance to live

Riding up the root of rotting
intertwining infant limb and natal liquid
leaking out of every tunnel
in the blackened multitude
of ever growing living yelling tar

When the trade had happened
they could barely notice
Acting undefeated
As if the breed were their own blood
Getting integrated with the knowledge of it
As they feed it on enamel nail and bone
I can tell you confidently
that whatever you believe in
you would throw it all away
and beg a god in any heaven
to rid your brain of how it feeds
Taking the place of us
Our kind made to grow into
Ignis Nativitas
Hatching to immolate

In the drain of incarnation

Ripped from the scape
Peeling of like bark and floating
Around the wreath
of terminated incubation
Drawing inward
Taking with it all the rotting fruit that fall
in and around it
in a violent Cyclical drain of incarnation

Boanet
Grown and fed had taken flight
to our world
Riding on the reveries
of the unborn and dreaming young
Futile and undefined
Minds thrown
on the track of banshee talon

Torn under claw in the wake of their flight

They manipulate the venom
flowing in them to eliminate us

Spiraling into the drain of incarnation
Into the drain of incarnation
The pulse of the tide rip our remains
forever into the drain of incarnation

Boanet
grown and fed had taken flight
to our world
Riding on the reveries
of the unborn and dreaming young
Futile and undefined
Minds thrown on the track of banshee talon

Taken by the pull of tide
into the drain of incarnation
Riding on the reveries
of the unborn and dreaming dead

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