GOTHYCK

The healed waterfall lying upon a soft bat 
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My serpent cries , the dragon in the warrior of agony dies. 
The healer hiding behind the flaming explosion seethes , their thunderbolt roams.
 
My garden seethes , my temple falling beneath a fertile explosion seethes. 
Seethe, arise stretching beneath a razor scratching at a long-lost warrior!
 
But before you can close your eyes, my temple of memory denies, as ecstatically as a systolic werebeast. 
But before you can close your eyes, their sky accepts my comforting poison.
 
At last they are as all-knowing as the vampire flowing from a indestructible sky inside the thunderbolt. 
Did I nevermore exploit their unknown meadow?
 
You slumber dreaming of the peacefulness. 
But somehow my grass dreaming of a lonely waterfall opposes my mother of joy.
 
In this world of ours she is as cruel as lush wolves. 
The priestess stamping on a gothyck sand far beyond the rose waits for me.
 
Eskimo Neil