Azathoth, the slumbering, sightless prince of daemons,
who dwells dreaming in the center of rippling chaos
beyond the ordered universe in a palace
whose dimensions defy all conceivable geometries,
and whose malicious idiocy birthed the world, thinks you're garbage
Out in the mindless void the daemon bore me,
Past the bright clusters of dimensioned space,
Till neither time nor matter stretched before me,
But only chaos, without form or place
Here the vast lord of all in darkness muttered
things he had dreamed but could not understand,
while near him shapeless bat-things flopped and
fluttered in idiot vortices that ray-streams fanned
Outside the ordered universe is that amorphous blight of

Nethermost confusion

which blasphemes and bubbles at the center of all infinity
whence flow the aimless waves whose chance
combining gives each frail cosmos its eternal law

Whose name no lips dare speak aloud,
and who gnaws hungrily in inconceivable,
unlighted chambers beyond time and space
amidst the muffled maddening beating of vile drums
and the thin monotonous whine of cursed flutes
They danced insanely to the high
clutched in a monstrous paw
“I am his messenger,” the daemon said,
as in contempt he struck his master's head

Azathoth! Azathoth! Azathoth!
The boundless daemon prince
Yog-Sothoth! Yog-Sothoth! Yog-Sothoth!
The being, a congeries of iridescent spheres

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