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Tamlin

de Current 93

The lovely coppercoloured mountain of flesh and starres.
In my hands I cup my decline as it flowers into them -
this is the rippling of the ages: our lives like rain, the small shower, the downfall, the thunderous pouring... in some greenfield of rape we lie...

Dominion of this and that: he had one savage head like a great dead dog; he had one sad aged head, weeping;
his other head... Over in the distance the hills are moving - London Bridge burns.
Why!: God may be dead?
Many little children cry and laugh. My mind to me a kingdom is - shall You kiss me as before?

So then - here I am. The sky - what colour shall I call it? From turquoise to what? Dark and light it is. Under it the redfirecat shrugs its shoulders. Her smile is bonewhite glory. The moon is a tiny starre, and all the starres are shot from the glowing moons. Mothers all around me blackfaced redspotted. Michael. Gabriel. Samael.
Azrael.
I laid down and wept. Let my mind not go. Bubbling lights all around me. I laid down and wept. Her smile is bonewhite glory; we may as well go with the angels... l laid down and wept. Sheeted wings, blackamaline; my love for You is very great. The breath of the starres. Between the ivory towers of Her Teeth there I say in the redbed of Her flesh there is the goldenroom of God I say there: these are God's pillars.
Her smile was bonewhite glory. We may as well go with the angels...

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