I upturn the chalices of flesh upon the serpent laden altars Of Ophion's wrathful aspect and lay vigorously From the gathering vermilion pools, Beneath the blood-born caul, Shrouded within the shades of Nehemoth I bare the funeral lamp down the corridors Of Somnus' spiraling tomb And trespass beyond his muted gates To stand before the dim throne of Moth That I may drink from the cup of his left hand the sacred wine of the abyss. Death-grail of sulfur and serpent-blood poison That slays the body and eclipses the soul. I shall drink the essence of the Drakon And in death be inhumed and reborn.