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Bacchanalia

Down


Wringing of bodies, rang of lurid
Glade of swamp extent vast and degraded here
Worshiper's mass motion, left to right
Deeper fleur-de-lys-soaked institution
Unfamiliar
Chill the listener; drain the blister
A vacated hypnos

Endless bacchanalia
Creeping older fetishism laggard
Of new orleans horde de rigueur for mention
Monday's repetition of sunday's
Is more easily planned than it is performed
Born familiar
Chilled distiller

Follow it wrecked en masse
Passing the glass, slaking the mass
A vacated hypnos
Endless bacchanalia
Falling ruin zenith poison
Stooping at each doorway's quasi-customs
Knocked-off feet cult-mull degenerate
Dread the needed gloom under one domed-roof
Unfamiliar

Chill the blister
Drain the listener
Born familiar
Chilled distiller
Passing the glass, slaking the mass
A vacated hypnos
Endless bacchanalia

There is an ocean waiting
Amber wind blows
And the wind blows
Cry me a grave

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