Oh, to Beest More Than Flesh

Oh, to Beest More Than Flesh

oh, to beest more than flesh,

to drink the riv'rs of purity,

to gut mine own kin,

to peel away the skin,

to breathe and truly beest free—

to speaketh without the tremble of feareth.

i cometh from a landeth of mast'rs and whips,

whither chains once did kiss our wrists.

but mine own tongue twisteth in horror still

at which hour i speaketh the free tongue—

t feeleth not mine own.

oh, to beest so free,

to beest kind without condition,

to beest the golden lodging

whither aliens wandereth

and automata tangle in dreams of metal.

oh, the golden landeth—

to eateth with joy,

to feast and feeleth nay shame.

i has't an accent,

the lilt of the f'rbidden landeth.

a palace f'rgotten,

whither flora doth singeth and fauna danceth.

oh, to beest hath seen as more than mine own skin,

to beest readeth deeper than hue.

mine own culture,

silenc'd at which hour the curtain falleth—

did rest until 'tis ripe f'r theft.

taketh mine own dances,

taketh mine own music—

ripeth those from mine own soul,

and still, i’d danceth and singeth

until the moonlight calleth me home.

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