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Philosophy is my eye, mathematics my fist,
An alchemical mind within a skull of mist.

Skull Fuel.
Death Moon!

A cosmos made of herbs,
A deep green universe,
Where wooden hands embower,
With splinters of their power,

On ghosts' coat-tails I build my throne,
In this intangibility I call home,

Skull Fuel,
Death Moon!

With glorious abstractions how I deny the dark,
My intangibility is my power, oh how I give but never can devour,
Gonna grow me some light, a little blood red flower,
There is nothing more heavenly than the death which dwells in the full bloom of life,
They say it measures potential, forever we grasp for solids we all hope to digest,
To invest in those vitals without which we can never rest,
To implore the opening of the door, so we can be what we were before,
So we can help restore the umbilical vegetation that held the world in the centre of the universe,
When we were all the tentacles of God, when we all inhaled the purest cosmos,
Through the finest instruments nature could provide,
We didn't have to hide, we didn't have to decide – we just had to ride,
But now it's all 'who is on whose side?'
Don't let the sadness divide – let loose you alchemical side!

Witness this golden brain, imprisoned in a body of lead,
Whilst my impulse is alive – my fingertips are dead!

On ghosts' coat-tails I build my throne,
In this intangibility I call home,

Skull Fuel,
Death Moon!

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