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Flyblown prince of spoiled flesh

Tonight he is a red wrath

A flurry of bolt cutters spit out the canvas

Butcher Hydra

Hivemind Omega

Fleshbound buzzing rapture

By the humming moss the haze is drawn in

Here the waters recede

Here the reeds bow

Trail of scattered voices mouthed through grasses

Beading the rind and tripping the barkland

Just now he's a myth-maker

Grey man, this one, with a skull hot-crushed with cannibals

Sends images of dying girls

Runaways runaways

"Are you lost, Alice? Are you alone?"

He can peel the fear off your skin and carve his real name on your bones

He'll hold you and return to you before the purchase runs

And plant you in the fucking earth with all the other ones

Bleeder of cherry red blooms

Bloater of grey and blue moons

Oh bereaver, you should see her

Beheld as one - a patchwork madonna

All paper cuts and whipping knots

Drawn apart, drawn apart

"Am I sick, sister? Am I complete?"

His eyeballs are a ladder down above a swinging street

And, all around, the air has stuck and all the song departs

He wraps a rolling hive around the lightly beating hearts

Flyblown beast of carrion

Flesh-wound vermian priest

Delight in Disgust

Revulsion in Lust

By then he's a rumour, consuming,

A white cloud of tumours in bloom in the husk

Pupating in crust

He's fawning, his fabrics are

Fallen to dust

Its peel is unwinding

His core is a writhing assembly of

Wormlike divinements and pus

His mind is untimely

A nova

Of stings

And of stomas delivered

By hags in the crush

Flyblown prince

Buzzing rapture