Pale Brethren

Meajsty, broke the bread in two
Etched in it a caricature smiling wickedness
Frothing vulture leering from the fire

Miscarriage of phoenix!
Rises on pallid wings
Pray be the air that taketh it

Divorced from beyond, spun from silt
Foul breath, stringent
Be cast and dispel

Lest distraught the blooming fields
May thy bowels rot

Poison what is left of thy insipid fetish
The burning smoke of it
Raise me to the outer

Circle the moon and be forever in search of the true brethren
My trail, ashen in wake, a path for all to see
Return will I, my cycle is tenfold
Yet to be seen here

They are to come
Dispatch thy monarch
Burn thy altars
We are, they are...