Tasted the fever of Your existence
   seems like cold grain to my mouth
   I stand aside, I stay away
   transmuting my quicksilver blood
  
   KIA - that I may see
   ZOS - that I may touch
   insipid are the describing words
   the self needs no vulgar praise
  
   This worship has no supplications
   my rite is to live and do
   things naked, pure, of honest lust
   the throbbing vortex feeds on it all
  
   Sleep is the best of possible prayers
   the winged eyes are blessed to see
   downtrodden deception of every torment
   transpierced hymens my lust adores
  
   Many images yet one raw flesh
   animal steps I love to tread
   an ideal point where Time is Space
   memory giant sores this journey must heal
  
   Lady of Mourning and her monsters
   lay down the scythes for here I come
   joyful and priapic my baby soul
   a new-born one, ten million years old