A Forest Of Stars - Gatherer Of The Pure lyrics

He's a man of the world, but his is a small world Being a world whirled and whipped inside a filth caked skull All a dalliance in delusion, all dreamed down in narcotic seclusion He peeps all askance through all and sundry; Three dimension unreality his fourth dimension play-day All eternity a rainy Sunday He, a builder of worlds in dreams He, a destroyer of worlds in dreams Feculent plots / hatch / fester / fry Subsistence burnt black, effulguent brain pan besmirched Labours of love ladled into ravenous toilet bowl of life All lost souls to feast upon fresh hot meal of voided bowel He, a leacher of colour. He, a void in sanity A poisoner of the well, instiller of winter's gray flavour A spasmed spatter of the obvious, a-soiling gleaming uncertainty On a lonely wander through twisting streets of Yonder His one good eye spying, prying, a shadow play for yesterdays All tomorrows, all yesterdays today Carrion Crow, pinch-faced proprietor of this sorry sideshow Roll up, roll up! Crack cranks his codeine calliope All is vibrant colour without his vermined bone box All within, bleak nothing - all without to pay homage, at his insistence Cosmic keys broken in twisting locks of lost infinities His worlds all a-fire now, a Lucifer turning in listless circles Before landing in the dry hay of thoughts half-remembered Evensong their last song Pray for the prey! Sing for your supper! Funeral pyres for one and all today As hand of God to give As hand of God to take away