At last, an end. To stars, to light. To dreams. And in the dark after?; A nightmare child, our child; spawn of dead suns, black-hole maggot, swelling in the wounds of God, after all between Heaven and Hell is done
They come, my carrion-children, my fly-born, singing desolate lullabies, curdled hymns, in welcome of creation's leprosy.
Unwanted waking, my only prayer to sleep forever; that they never hear my dreaming lament. Denied. The Eaters of Dreams sing to me, call me Father, in the dark, despairing hours.
Worms call, black-hole dawn, gasping in the light of dead stars, my first breath, choked with dead Mother's filth, my own. A son of leprous Gods, my nightmares new gospels, that all waking and dreaming will soon know.
No prayers, now, save in cockroach tongue. Our Vermin Children come! Sing, my unwanted, my aborted! Sing and call them to cannibal feast.
Listen...the elegies of worlds, diseased stars. Beautiful, isn't it? No use praying now, sweet ones. Fairy time is over. Come! Come and join our choir...
Awake, almost born. All know, the dreaming in their cribs, the choking in their deathbeds, all see. Wailing in welcome, hearts stopping as one.
Don't mourn me; my dreams are over. Save your tears for when the black suns rise, when my nightmares are born...
Many, child; no dream survives, no garden is eternal. Let them show you the night beyond Eden...
George Lea is an entity that seems to simultaneously exist and not exist at various points and states in time and reality, mostly where there are vast quantities of cake to be had. He has a lot of books. And a cat named Rufus. What she makes of all this is anyone's guess.