Cursing the day. A sombre seed of a mirrored point, just an idea.
Laughing in a kaleidoscope of blood and honey... It was all just
A dream. The scream, the nod, the boy, the idea. The five points
Of frustration, inverted to decode, and now they're just upside
Down. And the snakes who gave you life, mock them from their
Faraway silent mystery. The temptress in green runs to her attic
Temple, the sick secrets and the moon all hers to chant in a dark
Wood falls into crush her of the house she cannot find. Requiem
And wandering, following shadows burnt in the dark. Fucking
Herself in the dense where the cats all watch and guard, and her
Offspring - a watery universe spark in the chaos of thoughts and
Orgasm. Where the cats are gods and the forest is home and the
Blood is the life... A hypodermic, the symbol of the temple. And
Grim reaper, he won't come to her. And she puts a kiss in the
Cauldron every night for his ghost, yet the birds always sing.
The necklace dangles on her breast and fires at the moons touch.
The chaos mingles with the dust of the grave, while the ashes
Blow away. And the gate between illusion and breath creaks wider
With the fading of the sun. Now she wears a cape.