Foul Winds Through Utopia

Back on the track with a slithered attack of grief

We are

Side by side with the nights as voyeurist thief

We awake…

Trodden to the floor, rotten to the core

My sultry eye seeks more

Windows to boudoir, tongues that force encores

And darts to the arts that are

Rotten to the core, trodden to the floor

My lipless mouth seeks more

Kisses from the corpse, necromantic thoughts

And darts to the arts that are

Grave, windswept…

Blow! Blow our name

Set the world aflame in covetous games

And the

Pain pours as rain to regain what they stole

From us

Glad to gladiate the damned…

And he throws his inner sanctum

Into this vast area

Fodder to the saints and lions

That as in fever

Deflesh, obsessed

By bestial savageness

And crash the crest

Of waves of appetite

And I, one of them

Would die to pleasure them

Cold hands writhe for prayers

Mock in colder stone

Weaving lay and layers

Frenzied, alone

Whetting thy dear brushers

Paint the pack's town red

A phoenix from the gashes

Heal this gangrene

Trodden to the floor, rotten to the core

Decline's ambassador

Hymns to the bizarre sounding from afar

Bewinged by the winds that

Blow! Blow our name

Set the world aflame in covetous games

And the

Pain pours as rain to regain what they stoke

From us…

There's so much beauty that was sown

The fruits of heaven reaped by carnal autumn storms

There's too much beauty to prolong

The chants of virtue when vice could rise this pleasure dome