Ithyphallic

At the seething and fiery center He sits upon his ebon throne Within his halls of darkness Which no man has seen and survived the vision Both blind and bereft of mind He pipes unceasingly on his reed flute And the notes that rise and fall in measured patterns Are the foundations of all the worlds Ever calculating in sound the structure of space and time Were his flute ever to suddenly fall silent All the spheres would shatter into one another And the myriads of worlds Would be unmade As they were before creation The flute of the blind idiot Both makes and unmakes the worlds in ceaseless Combinations Spinning on the woven carpet of time No creation without destruction No destruction without creation To unmake a thing is to make another Each time a thing is made Another is destroyed [solo: Dallas] The idiot god on his black throne Does not choose What shall rise into being And what should pass away He cares only to maintain His mindless unholy music of Random creation and destruction No living creature can look upon his face And endure its terrible heat And black radiance That is like the reverberating unseen rays of molten iron Which strike and burn the skin Of those who would dare Gaze into the countenance of the idiot god Never does he receive supplicants In his black halls of uncouth angles and strange doors Nor does he ever hear prayers or answer them Endlessly he pipes And endlessly he devours his own substance For his hunger is insatiable As he consumes his own wastes after the custom of idiots As the god creates So he destroys