---

The altars of glass are to be mocked

But its shatters are not

Trencadis of bodies, the lifeless moon

Growing sphere that want us all in

Dont let them feed

Bite the hand

I’ve stomped through every pathethic song

Through the guts of the meek

I refuse to be bitter

As I shall be the reason for bitterness

The altars of glass are not to be worshipped

Nor to survive

I laugh and spit into an all-seeing eye

But through trance and abundance

I will devour the last vertebra

And stand on the edge of creation

With a chalice and the sword