Confess
That in trim golden gardens death breathes the abysm
That the dark nymphs sting on heavenly failure
And bid the soul of orpheus to sing such notes as
Armmagedon
Apocalypse and unbridled holocaust
Thou hast entombed
Sphere born that harmony consumed
Attired with stars and able to pierce
High-raised saphire-coloured death inbreathed
A shrine
Scythed in the palest shades of black
Confess
That minute drops from off the eaves of damnation are nigh
That rotten trophies such as fecal angelical heads were harvested
And let the horrid tunes hung feral beneath the firmament
As solemn tunes have sung
Of the end drear and grace dementia
Death, where is thy sting?
To bite cruelty in a silver platter
Euphonious ravens to choir for a tragedie
With undiscording melodious noise with harsh din
Old of dying essence from where ambrosia blooms
In perfect diapason and tuned with the fiery hell
And in depraved delict, delight or denial
Open wide the gates below through velvet curtains undressed
Haste thee nymph, and bring forth
The winds that froze the golden zodiac
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