Lovecraft Thesis #5

(Visions of Bodies Being Burned, Track 6) 

 


The man you say brought us here is a kind of prophet.

He saw the cloaks along the shoreline,

knew the foul faith deep within their threads.

Such powerful irony, then, to share a

tone of voice with those hooded shadows,

men who call themselves warlocks of a pure truth

they could never read. Ever notice

how they huddle around warped symbols,

pledge fealty to idols long since dust,

march on wearing capsized ideas

on their heads to hide from sight?

They hope some twisted nature will reveal

deserved kingdom, will let any void

glimpse them if they’ll have it, slip on

monstrous shapes they call heritage

and drift through the earth like wind-snatched

kite paper. And for what?

What else than to own the carcass

of a land already bought in blood?