| Slave / Awake in the tumult / Bray / Bold for a lost sun / Here / In the gut of the tempest | |
| Chains / Wither away / And in this incarnation / The storm has sent it forth a / Slave | |
| To boil back with a dark love / Rage / In ceaseless cycle / A mantra / To bide into curses | |
| And break open / On the caustic current / And in its deconstruction / The storm has fashioned it | |
| A son - Quake, stoop / Such things hang about his shoulders / Shimmers of Perdition | |
| caught between brush strokes and the oil / Shake, Grow / Feed upon your burdens | |
| For, beneath that fragile colour / A pearl in the friction slows | |
| Wave - you vapours / You refracted, wandering lights / mere tears in a canvas of saturating blight | |
| His core, this Caliban, of barren rooms sewn up / And stare afflicted by / some greatness in decay | |
| And I would be burned / (I would be burned) / By the flails behind / (flails behind) | |
| Those boiling windows / Where a ravenous spawn (ravenous spawn) / forsakes its skin | |
| (forsakes its skin) | |
| in silent struggle / And where all light tapers out / and a dark horizon is spread / Fevers of his fierce design | |
| in sable tremors tread / In blasted cacophony / In will out of agony wrought / He thrives in the torment | |
| His inimical whispers like birds / Raise in the eye / Ravenous spawn / Forsakes its skin |
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