Man, little man, why do you need god,
when you believe yourself as a god?
The bellowstorm must come
In which a cherub lurks
Offspring of an exploited Nature
People, men, women, old and young,
The most hideous vermins and angels than ever.
Childworms,
Humid larvae,
Damp molluscs,
Spongesoul sinsects,
By urine and blood drenched in their own vomitus
Impaled through anus
Penetrated, desecrated
On the crusted antlers of Cernunnos
Writhing diadems
Ornaments in convulsion
You're all on the stakes
No empty space
No solitude amongst you
A race dies on the horns of god
While they' re staring at each other
In rigour
One is common in them:
Fear and credulous curiosity ( but curiosity is much stronger)
Which is a key on the necklet of the Virgin girl.
The howling storm must come
In which a cherub lurks
Starving for dolls.