Magenta Chambers

A never-ending spring from the caves of the world The world made of flesh and clay Rivers of pious fluids through the perished land The land of the matter, not here to stay Flow through these chambers Torch these dying embers Fulfill this empty vessel of mine Wash my eyes to see Wordless psalms in the buried convent The convent of four altars THe king is suffering from the hungerland the thirst Flow through these chambers Torch these dying embers Fulfill this empty vessel of mine Wash my eyes to see Spill and show my colour of the true confession Confession of wisdom out of reach I am the most loyal and humblest martyr Martyr just for me