How hungry we've become; like animals naked in shame Fed with the hooves of apocalypse that galloped down, disordered worlds behind
From word to a word I was led to a word that spanned over cultures in rage Crimson masses, sleeped in decadence holding our tongues to the thirsty sun So, it the future still open? Then enter, hornet, from our hive-dark hearts to draw down the end from within
We need not the horns that emanate from our warty, haunted bodies severed and numbered they are
Nihilist, Hedon the priceless art of their lives Sorrow is a wing laid atop their heads. skin deep, we carve our immeasurable sorrow in the fold of your shivering arms
Hedon, Your chindren wild and filled with death
# Jupiter in our unforgiving eves: a pandemonium of bodies and gold Eager, as a part of your face and the sickness attached to your skin (stone) as the wine-rush, changing from androgynous wombs to open free the lid of pain #
Hedon, rinsed in post-human shadows a monument scorned by the teeth of time Stale-faced keeper of secrets, loaded with implosive fire the whore that carried the apostle to the mating point on the graves of giants