This eerie abode over there between the firs silent breethes is my palace, where I rest and lust, the emerald of the forest, an epoch making castle This embossed signs on my sinuous arms shall be the encomium of my victorious acts balk as they stood at my ablaze hordes I turned their ground into a mosaic of bloody thorns I hold the sunbeams like the sky does the morals world like mother Earth the penis of father Ouranos I shout to my creators, Im the lord and my voice becomes one with the astral vault In this brimstone dale where adders etch the skinland deep, yet sweet Ill crow over my success once more, aye, aye high in the crescent moons flourished kingdom never cave in Those I quoth, those I have done
aye, breethes, encomium, skinland, balk