Eyes of a wanderer, bones from the mud,
Unmarked and crackled, bottles of blood.
Unspoken words, ashes and dust,
In the Collector's Chamber's disgust.
Find in the darkness, shadows of red.
Feel from the cave wall, unrested dead
Throwing their souls into nothing in scare,
Sense them and hear them in utter despair.
Still in the silence, whispers and screams,
Panic, anxiety, mareridden dreams.
Still in the scent, in the smothering rot,
Not to be altered, The Collector's plot.
Teeth and tongues in rusty cans.
Falconfeathers, savagehands,
Cut off and collected in gore.
Stay in the foulness, loathe and abhor
