The twisted wings and cluds unfold And the greatgape of He who fell Makes darkened shadows over pointed spires Little children point and sing And little children run and dance Over there the setting sun And under that the silent stars And under they the weeping sky And under Her the laughing world (Balance sits in western parts And piles spare Spares in his gabled room) Great Anarch and Monarch of Not The Flight of Lucifer over London And my little grandson Wrinkled son forehead All tiny blue pain As the Mother Blood emerges Then the Mother Grief And the Blue Gates of Death Open armwide Open teethwide All dead like the leaves Old times shiver Old dead calendar Past blurred sunsets Cinders flying in His heart His heart His fingers punch holes in the sky (And all the little Christs I count Are covered in the breathwhite snow And all the little Christs I call Are laughing through the green green fields) Some of those angels have the face of God And some of them have the face of dogs (By the Tower of Moad - see the sky's Greenangel form) And lucifer flickers all around me His hooded eyes alight In the smoky musk Look into Him just a little longer See the true face of the Moon So He wheels there through the heavens His eyes are dotted brightlights Licked with dust A golden seabird Halfdead with spray His banners broken flags in the wind Devouring life he breaks at walls The glint of dead fruits glint And then the Moon... And then the Moon... And then the Moon... (And sixsixsix It makes us sick We're sicksicksick of 666)
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