Aurora birth, repulsive, horrid, bloody, Cradle of moss, moist with rain and red. Fog would leave his newborn, naked body, Blood would lead the wolves
Behold my master of atrocious damage to mankind, Witness my fury, get into my mad, sickened mind. Hold me in awe and kneel before my throne of evil sin
Eyes of a wanderer, bones from the mud, Unmarked and crackled, bottles of blood. Unspoken words, ashes and dust, In the Collector's Chamber's disgust
This is the frozen day's Final conclusion. This is the mist that cling to the ground. This is the final gaze On an illusion, Stillness and quiet, the
On his throne of bones and fur The Collector is quietly seated, Prepared for the scene about to occur. In the arena of velvet and dust Awaiting the
Benighted scene by the darkened lake, In the gloomfull, dispiriting black. Born from a mother not awake, Blood is the solitary track. Knifelike rain
In iniquity conceived, Carried in secrecy. Kept unseeable, concealed, Given a prophecy. The bearer of secrets Would never outlive him. In the cruel
Outside his chamber The torches are quenched By bitter winds and rain. Emptiness and total stillness. Silence rules in pallid dawn. The Master is finally
Something is tracing me, Chasing and trailing me. Panic within me, Horror around. Someone is reaching me, Grazing and leaving me. I hear it around me
Above the colourless cold, Through the winds of the shivering night. Stories obscure and untold Carried by ravens in flight. Finding and keeping the
