The Epitome of Misanthropy

In the start like a cast
In morality plays
Our hearts wore a mask
Of dead rooks in the rain
The World was our cloister
No prayer, bent in shame
Our once lucent plumage
Stung with horn withered grey...
and away...
As Aeons slew so we grew to myth
Revenge accrued to a monolith
Bursting through from our roofed abyss
Like an aether greased fist
Now vulvite gates are so sorely missed
Our horror pours through the orifice
Where once the spheres and archangels kissed
Phallelujah!