The Temple
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We found the ivory moving fast in gripping grasp
Pried its flinging grip from the railing
Throwing it overboard, his eyes just opened
The reanimated corpse swam away
Drifting into madness
The ivory idol never exists
Torn away from our thoughts
Plunging down through abyssal doors
Driven mad
Breaking loose, the conchae break countryside
One by one, the bodies held their terrible hauntings
Nowhere to go but down, down to the ocean floor
With the statuette curving in our grasp
Relentless, explicit suicide
The aqueous death's decision brave
Now I'm alone
Feeling dead and feeling right
In dead December
Living in the searchlight, the cyclopean king
Yawning, beckoning dawn
I behold the temple
With the fading of the last stricken match
An eerie requiem penetrates the hull
Shining forth from the opening of the temple
The great black altar faintly seduces me
To my end