Dying as the morning Sun
Bleeding on white hot floors
Amid a stench of iron and burning flesh
Evisceration of divinity
When she was bursting with child!
O high queen of rot and decay
Unveil your ravaged sovereignty
Shrouded in fumes and scalding vapour
And frail of the whispered offering
We take your body for our own
To fill your wounds with curious tongues
And your hollow womb with ash

A womb from which all life dies
But not without the pain of birth
Praying for death before the end
All but twisted wreckage, a husk!

Weak of the whispered offering
Bubbling skin and scalding ointment
Anointing the feet of the dead
A paltry hope of the dying
To see the sons lie in state
The cries of voices broken
Heart of the malformed
With woe you beat no more
Truth is born in the last gasp