They were always
Staring back at me
In cloudy jars
Above the mantel
Trophies kept
Perverse posterity
A bit of sediment
A bit sentimental

It’s time to run
Won’t do no good
There’s something stalking
Within these woods

Line the walls
The walls kept in line
Fingers in some
A moment trapped in brine

It’s time to run
Won’t do no good
There’s something stalking
Within these woods

I contemplate
My methodry
Sometimes even
I disgust me

Dark rites nearly complete
The wretched kneel before me

Laying on of implements
Lighting of the candles
Rendered down for further use
The putrid scent of tallow

Miniscule bones
Twined and neck laced
Flesh taught and tanned
Illuminated…
Illuminated shades

It’s time to run
Won’t do no good
There’s something stalking
Within these woods

Their senseless bleating
Under cover of the night
Pieces of eight
Or nine
Kept discretely
out of sight

It’s time to run
Won’t do no good
There’s something stalking
Within these woods
I contemplate
My methodry
Sometimes even
I disgust me

Dark rites nearly complete
The wretched kneel before me
Flagellant welts shall weep
Clan of the turgid aeons
Rising from the deep