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