Prologue: Lower Than Ghosts

Salt thy meat and cool thy meat

It will still grow rotten in the heat

Chant eight tiny men in bronzed hoods

Messianic figures rise and die

Pretty flowers

and Crushing stones

The king roams his land in search of


In search of peace

In the past these gems have grown in size

To dwarf his decadent dominion

But once they are knocked from their phantom pedestal

They shrink and become jewels in his

Lonely Crown

Act I: Birth Of A Leviathan

I ascend to an astral mezzanine

Among stoney sapphire

And winking specks which are unreachable

Indigo graduates to inky blackness

I stroke my crown and beard

I bask in salubrious emptiness


Smiling, the sun peeks out from behind the earth

Bathing me in neon

Gone is the bitter bliss

Of frosty gusts and charcoal vacuums

I fall, winding silently

To the shadowy side of earth

Knowing that a rising sun is an inevitability

No longer the king of nothing

But the pawn of everything

A prawn in the pond

Probing for plankton

Out of my element

I see the horizon splashed in orange and peach

I rejoice

Eight tiny men in bronzed hoods chant

Act II: Ignorance

As the golden star reaches its peak

I dread the bright streaks it has left upon my memory

It will soon be behind the mountains

And I will be hopeless

As I mourn the scene is set ablaze

By a human shape enveloped in flame

My happiness droops and becomes liquid

It hardens and comes

To a precarious perch on my heart

The luminous being revealed herself

I spoke

Leave your mark upon my soul

Your absence will surely spell my doom

I can serve in no small part

If you guide me through the hopeless gloom

Salt thy meat and cool thy meat

It will still grow rotten in the heat

Eight tiny men in bronzed hoods added

Act III: Emerald

I reach under my ribs

And pull out a thumping heart

I approach her

But before I can make my offering

I notice that she is holding another heart


I drop to me knees

The organ in my hand

Turns green and hardens into solid emerald

I bury the useless stone

Beneath the dirt

Heart in hand

She races into the twilight

In a streak of gilded honey

Act IV: Nightfall

The sun fades into dusk


Serendipity finds me

In fearful

Pensive wandering

I come across a heart

The heart

That she dropped

As the trees fall into shade

And the warm air dissipates

The lost heart

Symbolizes found hope

Retracing my steps

I linger over a fresh mound of dirt

A shadow cast by a specter

Unyielding in

Excitement and hesitation

The disquietude is broken

By eight tiny men with bronzed hoods

Carrying torches

They begin to chant:

The forlorn king has not been doomed

His deserted heart must be exhumed!

I clutch the organ

Now free from its crystalline containment

Journeying to offer it

To the free hand of the golden siren