Thy Serpent - Crystalmoors


I do profound the death, 
Inside which it weakens me. 
Not mine acting does it cause 
...it is in fear. 
But blindness thou see in every mortal - 
dreamlike thought, 
including in me. 

Beheaded I am, 
greedly waiting besides thine grotesque being. 
For a saviour of this soul 
had it even ever been? 

Thou all art but blind fruits, in mine created bowl; 
Only feeling my hunger to thine flesh, 
as stars have come old. 
It Is a desolate night in me again, 
so I was told. 
Carried I did the shadow alone, 
to these crystalmoors. 
With a bare arm and drop of blood 
...as I do recall. 

My reasons for vast profoundness, 
are deepen far away. 
By the shimmering light of the "ill-face" 
I do stand pale and tall... 
Wandering about in darkness questioning myself 
Was there ever a day at all?

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