Rite Of Shrouds

Consecrate the ceremony.

Or bear the oblation.

See you this maiden whore.

With whom you wish to copulate.

You see her beauty - I see the skull beneath the skin.

I smell the fragrant dusk of graves and the yellowed linen.

"Calamity of fate!" - the portents cry.

She longs to join the earth.

Until all is but an elysian field (beset with glistening urns).

A desolate, echoing cinerarium rattled by the winter wind.

Merciless, I raise the cup.

I beseech it be filled.

I am the celebrant in this rite of shrouds.

We abscond to ashes and dust occludes us all.