Ontology of Nought

Uncreation's Whirring Loom You Ply With Crippled Fingers

To Weave the Tapestry of Nought

The Blossoms of Your Tomorrow Shall Unfold in My Heart

Lest I Should Perish With Travel, Effete and Weary, as My Knees Refuse to Bear Me Thither

The Barren Earth Oozes Blood, and Shakes and Moans, to Drink Her Children's Gore