Slave & Awake in the tumult & Bray & Bold for a lost sun & Here & In the gut of the tempest
Chains & Wither away & And in this incarnation & The storm has sent it forth a & Slave
To boil back with a dark love & Rage & In ceaseless cycle & A mantra & To bide into curses
And break open & On the caustic current & And in its deconstruction & The storm has fashioned it
A son - Quake, stoop & Such things hang about his shoulders & Shimmers of Perdition

caught between brush strokes and the oil & Shake, Grow & Feed upon your burdens
For, beneath that fragile colour & A pearl in the friction slows

Wave - you vapours & You refracted, wandering lights & mere tears in a canvas of saturating blight

His core, this Caliban, of barren rooms sewn up & And stare afflicted by & some greatness in decay
And I would be burned & (I would be burned) & By the flails behind & (flails behind)
Those boiling windows & Where a ravenous spawn (ravenous spawn) & forsakes its skin
(forsakes its skin)
in silent struggle & And where all light tapers out & and a dark horizon is spread & Fevers of his fierce design
in sable tremors tread & In blasted cacophony & In will out of agony wrought & He thrives in the torment
His inimical whispers like birds & Raise in the eye & Ravenous spawn & Forsakes its skin