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Begat from a tempest’s mouth
Let the sun and moon rise as one

Puking in a storm soaked gutter
face streaming blood and spit and tears and laughter

you are the one who makes your own world
Issued from my dreams, ripped from the subjective skull, I know to be true

The tragic beauty of God's haggard skin
I am my own drunk god, as are you

The eternal solid shadows cast by the minor gods of distant planets loom
while we, the greater gods of changing form
of endless cycling
run stop lights and suck on favored perfumes

rictus, turn to choke forever without change
This is the cabal

I am bundled in mass market voodoo
Trying to tear away cheap paper
To find the holy mountain
The stubborn real

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