Salters Of Madness

Forgotten unconcious ghosts of aeons lay
In chasms cold as the deepest grave
A charnel cosmic wind, dispenses his judgement
upon any and all who would dare to challenge fate
An end as certain as the setting sun
A desolation frozen in time
For there is no everflowing stream
Peasants rot beside their kings
Lord Bothris; he who answers to no-one
for in the end, his will alone shall be done
His patience; as infinite as the stars
The reaper of the harvest of the uncreated Pod
Prince of death, I await the final test
Grant me access to the fruits of Eden
Bathe in the seas of Vlekt at the foot of the master
Imbibe the slime, forever after
The quest for knowledge, unquenchable thirst
Praying for life eternal in this finite universe
Raptured, are they who bask in his goo
as their physical bodies are consumed
Shifting through an ocean of the dead, amidst the skeletal remains
carrion he devours to nenew his father’s form
From out of chaos comes a new order
decomposer of the flesh, preparing for the end
Recycled in the heavens as on earth
a rebirth of the material world