Astrakhan - Omajod

We suffer, why suffer more?
Why bother?
Seething, blaming me.

Enclave:
Worship those in control.
Glass eyed cyclops:
Bringer of blight, purveyor unknown.

The sum unspeaking tongues, and voice that equal none
Amount to this god we've crafted from mud.

Awake yet we wait,
Enlivened we wander, Rejecting the pure, and corroding the song.

Imbibe your cup awaits – incite the psalm.

We house, feed and grow.
Our voices sink and fold.

Quiet.

Voices sink and fold.
Words so holy flow.

Dry your eyes.