From the banquit halls
filled with wine
we staggered singing
obscene songs
of necrophilia and canabalism
and hymns
for pre-human blasphemies.
Gentle noises of evening
pull away from us
leaving only eerie quiet,
and wind filled
with whisperings evil.
Even servitors of the Old Ones
draw back at our blasphemies
to chase the less knowing
nor wanting to be near
when the one who sits on its throne
comes to rid eternity of us.