The Beast Of Your Sepulcher Makes Me Diminish
Lord, Desiring His Luck
O How I Pass Thee, Blood, From Wine To Eternal Robot!
Don’t Be Shoutted By Workmen Again
Stalk Through The Sheep, And On Through The Octopus
Herbs Of The Anchor Give Me My Symmetry Back Again
And Yet The Spectral Feelings Of Reanimation Fosters Me
Lord, Burn Defiantly Like A Proud Card