At the Cauldron's Bottom

God gave you the spirit of fear Bound you soundly to the trunk of the world It's a rudiment of your mutilation, an ancient relic in your failing heart Illogical horror Massive hemorrhage Harmonic silence Where the barbs have dug in, where the nettles are latching The wound of wounds In the heart's clutch, held withstanding Trumpeting ecstasy But God gave you the spirit of fear! Bound you tightly to the trunk of this Earth It's a rudiment of your mutilation, a broken trinket in your ailing mind Illogical horror Trumpets blaring Massive hemorrhage Harmonic silence Tepid muddied fountain swallows us with the rest of the dregs At the cauldron's bottom, within the black vault In an endless sea of black rote, we've lost. We've lost Where the barbs have dug in, where the nettles are latching The wound of wounds We've lost, we're losing When the trumpet sounds in ecstasy The wound of wounds We've lost, we're losing