[120]
What lamentations arise
A cacophonous song wailing shrieking,
Grinding against the wrecked rhythm of the dirtied spheres
It is no longer music they make, but noise
Rude and rough to scour the ear Damnation upon those who hear.
As above, so below
Corruption spreads from feet to heads.
You, who would stride to the horizon with but a single step
Will from your prison puzzle never roam
Never guessing that the box that grips you is shaped like a box.
Descending forces cannot fall forever, even in a fallen world.
If you have the blessings of decline, fear nadir
While you beloved of life, fear the unwholesome seed of maddened fecundity.
You who by Art cage lightning, cut fire, sculpt the amber's pull
Are to meet first hand that which burns not, and sparks not,
And feels not strength upon it.
Alchemists and magicians, who would make this of that
Know that when the chaos grows upon you
New forms arise unknowing, as mice grow from spilled grain.
You who turn your thought to thought, become living jests.
Mind chases mind as a dog chases its tail.
Look beyond, you who would survive,
Look into the storm, and be humbled, and live enslaved.
And you, who with your dancing footsteps mock the heavy tread of Time.
You can circle a walking servant, but can you dance around a running master?
What lamentations arise
A cacophonous song wailing shrieking,
Grinding against the wrecked rhythm of the dirtied spheres
It is no longer music they make, but noise
Rude and rough to scour the ear Damnation upon those who hear.
As above, so below
Corruption spreads from feet to heads.
You, who would stride to the horizon with but a single step
Will from your prison puzzle never roam
Never guessing that the box that grips you is shaped like a box.
Descending forces cannot fall forever, even in a fallen world.
If you have the blessings of decline, fear nadir
While you beloved of life, fear the unwholesome seed of maddened fecundity.
You who by Art cage lightning, cut fire, sculpt the amber's pull
Are to meet first hand that which burns not, and sparks not,
And feels not strength upon it.
Alchemists and magicians, who would make this of that
Know that when the chaos grows upon you
New forms arise unknowing, as mice grow from spilled grain.
You who turn your thought to thought, become living jests.
Mind chases mind as a dog chases its tail.
Look beyond, you who would survive,
Look into the storm, and be humbled, and live enslaved.
And you, who with your dancing footsteps mock the heavy tread of Time.
You can circle a walking servant, but can you dance around a running master?