Saline Grace Fog Mountain
Taken through a bleak, dead mountain
Where only fog and slate grey rules
Where the sky its ugly floodgate opens
He searches for mercy and peace of mind
The clouds, like a plague, are sickly raging
A stinking herd, the world's purulent discharge
And between clefts like steel , so bare and painful
A horde of grey men is ghostly appearing
‘Follow us into a new regime!' they say
Then with wagon and throne they move away
But roaming further through fog mountain
Where bitter agony and stone restricts
He meets a bearded man within the torrents
Who sits in the mud, endowed with weals
‘Bread and wine I want to share!' he says
But stale brew and mildew the juggler raises
A dark haired, pretty woman he meets
Caught by her weird and pale blue eyes
Under the poplars smothered with kisses
They kneel in that madhouse of worths and lies
‘Your hunger I want to allay here!' she says
With a gently whispering voice and naked
The storm it rages and he stares silently
The mountain devours him, he skedaddles
He watches a raptor tormented by hunger
And presents himself as a fainted prey
‘Your hunger I want to allay here!' he says
Seriously, with a truthfully cawing voice
