By Andrew R. Duckworth
Darkest days from darkest souls
Drinking the warm blood of a fresh sacrifice,
Slaughtered at the altar of all holy science,
Not needing, demanding your compliance.
The cult pours your cup, freshly laced,
And tells you to drink for your own sake.
How much to drink before you break,
When soul has had what it can take
And cult is your reliance?