Sculpted here a statue fair, as by Phidias, in stone
And likened so to human form- its skin, its flesh, its bone
Left not unhewn: its poignant flaws nor the filth seeped from its pores
Flattered not but chiseled true, each of its festering cankerous sores

For the perfection sewn in what I portray
For pride therein to sin has gone astray

From stardust and purest earth was fashioned this frail frame
And by the breath that gave all life this treacherous soul took form
Abominate and apostate, all the heights of our achievements pale
To the depths of death which we have dug
The quest of glory we have failed

Does the hosts of heaven long to cut short the age of man?
To rectify our wrongs, io wipe out our iniquity?

Pushed back, oppressed on every side as by Hunnic bows harassed
The haggard force of virtue vanes as on its shrinking border masses
Evil clothed in robes of light and armed by those they overthrew
The hearts of man once tuned to sing, to tend, to care and cultivate

Their plowshares melted down
Reforged as swords to force their will

Occultic hymns will sing renown of that rotting carcass – truth
When fades its pyre’s anguished flame of Death’s eternal youth
The dead language of chastened love and the blackened art of light
Will be rehearsed in secret lairs by outlaw and alchemist alike

Are the inky pages of our acts
Dry enough to fuel the spark of good, the glory of mankind
Or will we yield to far more fervent flames
As the dawning night draws near, as the morning stars burn

Do the morning stars burn as urine drains from your altar
Or do the Cherubim beg you for the world to destroy us?

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