Magickal Cost

Through falling years, these failing times. We forged in fear and blood-soaked rites, in salt of tear, in age of line. The cycle unending, beyond man and time. My Voice, reaching back, oh, children mine. Surrounded by enemies, you have sought me out in silence—in the darkness of concrete passage, in the darkness of the flesh, in the wisdom of bleak asylum. I sing to you in the ur-tongue, in the language of ecstasies, of joys deeper than agonies. Beyond man and time, my voice reaching back. Six thousand feet, my voice reaching back. Of rippling impulse, true, real, raw hunger—my voice reaching back.