Cosmic Ghost
Bronson Norton
Folds of flesh laced together
There is silence concerning his limbs
Who will extract him from his armour?
Etiolated
Macerated of humanity
Bowing to the sovereign sun
We have chosen destitution
In my blood
Dethroned
Putrified in silver and gold
Coagulating as blood pours out into dust
Never again will we drink the wine from our own vineyards
To revel in the taste of our final battlements
Dethroned
Expelled from desolation by the odour of our dead
Cotton mouthed
Disenfranchised
We march against Babylon