Hurt

On serene scenes of vulgar white volition takes a stand
But his constitution teeters on volcanic sands
Like those secret waves that rise from secular seas
It's inconsistent as the moon in her variable degrees
The god of my idolatry plays the dirge of languid souls
Takes the honey out the breath the ardor blossoms cold
Now the crimson heart and her liquid diamond veins
Beats the matter in the mind and pains the Pain of Pains
In the womb of the sea who can say what shall arise
Shall it be the abhorred General whose abundance is the lie?
Treacherous waters with your vulgar scenes of white
Take thee from behind my wicked abject sight!
But volition now abases itself for loneliness usurps
And Ursa Major pours upon the Earth, the plague of all my Hurts.