I swarm deserted away, like glass
Warm, and as fevers,
I am as flame
I am death
For I, I weave our blasphemies
Wicthes painted me,
Like the mysteries created me
Like where the poets breathe,
I were woven into blasphemies
To Swarm Deserted AwayI swarm deserted away, like glass Warm, and as fevers, I am as flame I am death For I, I weave our blasphemies Wicthes painted me, Like the mysteries created me Like where the poets breathe, I were woven into blasphemies |