Sons Of Perdition Hallowed Blood From Hollow Beasts
Choose you the fairest of beasts and of souls
And lash their choice bodies to the towering maypole
Maybe the gods will accept what you're proffering
Or maybe they'll angrily spit out your offering
Go dig up ancestors from weather-worn clay
Venerated guests at the feast of the fey
Maybe they'll fester and maybe they'll spoil
But maybe they'll relish manumit from the soil
Go sound the horn with all the breath from your lungs
From atop the sacred tree from which we were hung
Maybe we'll listen and maybe we'll notice
Or maybe we'll shrug as we feast on the lotus
My skin split and stretched and scraped smooth and clean
To receive direction from a cold hand unseen
The auspices read from my entrails laid bare
Like a whisper that reaches through stone and through air
My skull holds the elixir that ushers the shaman
Through great shadowed realms to commune with the daemons
My bones hollowed out and punctured with holes
To sing to the gods from the depths of your souls
The mad speak through omens and knuckles and blood
To foretell failed crops and ruinous black floods
Should you all listen and should you all fear
The prophetic words of the withered old seers
Maybe you'll take heed and maybe you'll notice
Maybe wild ramblings or maybe prognosis
Not that it matters, not that the gods care
Whether or not you were ever even here
