Echoed words once misheard
Yet poignant all the same
Legions marching onward singing:
"Let an impure blood flow in our veins!"
Let this be our cry
Herald our dark desires
Tremble, before the rising tide
Tremble, this is your falling night:
Half devil, half child
You would presume to build this man of blood and soil
But deny the tangled matter of edaphon and flesh?
Deny the tangled matter on which it rests?
Numberless like the sands of the sеa
To wash away this whited sepulchre, this sanguinе myth
Embrace your final thanatotic bliss
Embrace your end