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the wizards lair
a serpentine maze
he casts a spell
slip into a haze

we march
towards the opium mist
obeying the law
of the monolith

jagged edges
bleed the crimson sky
no place to run to
no place where we could hide
to ‘scape the wrath of
the swelling tides
this must be the end
that was sung by gypsy caravans

have we forgotten what we wait for
stereolithic riffalocalypse
we feel that we could’ve done a lot better
blood burns, riffs call
and then we watch the skies open
and then we watch the skies
and then we watch the skies.

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