Satyricon Rising, Part I0
This that I dream, that I clutch in the mist, that I wear on the sleeve,
that I cloak in the crook.
The secret breaks. The tale bends.
The faces white. The pleasure bleak.
Way the far go, wend the fey sail. Never rest the gilded snare.
Cleave bare the blackened scry. All was end. All was lie.
Ever did the ether cry.