The great God Pan was I, when
Seed song was a sacrament, but now
Cinder cured on old blackened leather
I am the well played out divine.
Goat gray my sex among the bled
At one with the red carcass yet to come
I am a fever wind inhaled sugar blind,
Pleasure, the fool that fuels the world.
I cannot remember sensation complete
No silence for me in my need
Only the nag.
