All power is sacrifice; all power is loss. The powerful struggle to remain in power

nd have one’s way;
Set back the chains of time and recapture destiny.
My hand is my own in this game, and I’d play it like a pure man.
One last hand of cards as the sun rises above a city that’s forgotten;
The sleeper has awakened.
Shimmering scream breaks the silence underneath
The burning echoes of a single death;
Caked slime and no time
Where were you when the sun set over red hills?
White powder lifts and shrouded wanderers emerge;
Cell and membrane, living on the edge of a dismal razor
And we all play the game together because it’s all that’s left.
Feed the lie one last time before it falls apart again.
Red haired woman with green eyes,
Black velvet gown and her hand stretched forward,
Babalon, Ababalonde, Lilitu, Lilith.
Mother of the Lilim, Nephilim,
Who was amongst us even before the Grigori,
Who whispers the unfettered lies of pure honesty.
Redemption? Salvation?
Put those thoughts aside.
We are as we are;
We are not as we once were.
You are, you are not; what does it matter?
Single altar in dim jungles; black light of jaguars echoing past.
Temples around before Christ walked in the slithering smoke
Serpentine transmutation of the soul.
III. Names like the Dead
Ever have I been haunted; long before I saw the Tower,
Tasted the blood on my lips in the poison kiss, I see her again
Fear setting in.
Let go of it all for a moment and it flows backwards and stretches
With the wings of angels across a cascade of memory and pain,
What do you know of me?
Come and be my judge and