If my wrath broke up tombs
and swept away tresholds
pushing broken old values
into dark pits
if my hate would blow
rotten words to dust
like a cleansing wind
through moulding graves

Then I could rejoice
where gods lay entombed
covered with the sands of time
beside the keepers of a dying faith

Silent are the watchers

Even I would love the church
if the sun watchers down
through cracked domes
on the worms below

Silent are the watchers
gargoyles of a glorious past
perched upon their thrones
in cold shadow cast
across infinite reaches
unto new morals
away from this filthy domain

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