The void is a curtain of black velvet, draped around the idea of flesh
A prison made into an image of God with a face of a harlot
Darkness swathed in darkness, light unmanifest

The light goes out, where the shadows sprawl
The light dies out, where the gods are born
The divine beckons when we wander at night, and are consumed by fire

It bellows, it blisters, it burrows beneath
Without words it whispers, like the soft rustle of leaves
There are thorns, the dark seeds, and they never end

The light goes out where the shadows sprawl
The light dies out where the gods are born
The divine beckons when we wander at night, and are consumed by fire