The twisted wings and cluds unfold

And the greatgape of He who fell

Makes darkened shadows over pointed spires

Little children point and sing

And little children run and dance

Over there the setting sun

And under that the silent stars

And under they the weeping sky

And under Her the laughing world

(Balance sits in western parts

And piles spare Spares in his gabled room)

Great Anarch and Monarch of Not

The Flight of Lucifer over London

And my little grandson

Wrinkled son forehead

All tiny blue pain

As the Mother Blood emerges

Then the Mother Grief

And the Blue Gates of Death

Open armwide

Open teethwide

All dead like the leaves

Old times shiver

Old dead calendar

Past blurred sunsets

Cinders flying in His heart His heart

His fingers punch holes in the sky

(And all the little Christs I count

Are covered in the breathwhite snow

And all the little Christs I call

Are laughing through the green green fields)

Some of those angels have the face of God

And some of them have the face of dogs

(By the Tower of Moad - see the sky's Greenangel form)

And lucifer flickers all around me

His hooded eyes alight

In the smoky musk

Look into Him just a little longer

See the true face of the Moon

So He wheels there through the heavens

His eyes are dotted brightlights

Licked with dust

A golden seabird

Halfdead with spray

His banners broken flags in the wind

Devouring life he breaks at walls

The glint of dead fruits glint

And then the Moon...

And then the Moon...

And then the Moon...



(And sixsixsix

It makes us sick

We're sicksicksick

of 666)