(… And from here it seems that:) The god in man has murdered mankind And has drowned all hopes and castrated all doubts Hacked Adam’s face into valleys of formless dream Wherein the Abysmal Angel feast … Upon disputing tongues and fingers counting difference, Twitching, questioning eyes and impotent phalluses
Clothed in this presence, this chance of existence’ careless circumstance A mad sun drunk on the blood of every star Which trample galaxies beneath the monstrous moans of lonely love As a Will breaching the motion of the worlds
In a single path In a single word In a single name A single noose to hang all gods of shame
And from here it seems that the greatest fear of the living (/dying) is not death But existence itself, roaring in its tyrannical totality, upon the dying (/living) crowds lost in their hell-mazes of reflection