And The Elephant Sings Deep In The

He Was His Own Leftover, The Spat-out Scrag. He Was What His Brain Could Make Nothing Of.

The Sea Cries With Its Meaningless Voice, Treating Alike Its Dead And Its Living

Where Are The Gods The Gods Hate Us The Gods Have Run Away The Gods Have Hidden In Holes The Gods Are Dead Of The Plague They Rot And Stink Too There Never Were Any Gods There’s Only Death

In The Pit Of Red You Hid From The Bone-clinic Whiteness But The Jewel You Lost Was Blue.

With A Sudden Sharp Hot Stink Of Fox, It Enters The Dark Hole Of The Head. The Window Is Starless Still; The Clock Ticks, The Page Is Printed.