---

Holy candles fading

We are turned to stone forever

in a vein where death drips into a shape of the saint who is baptised in fever

The pattern of condemnation indescribable

Because you are looking for the mountain and the nails beneath the stars

black crosses leaning towards the triumph

and once more you crawl and

scramble on the earth's wounds

spitting sulphur and the birds of prey accompany

the defilement;

PROFANATION!

The soul within its

horizon of pain.