It's not without hate to crawl flat in the filth
As other less basilisks fly
And brothers are clasped to the breasts of a sylph
As their royal loves slither to die
So shedding dead skin, working true clours loose
Renewing the red in their eyes
They coil like sin within thinning excuse
Cold-blooded to sharpen the lies

Uncivil serpents, race decievers
Disfigureheads varnished with fevers
Snake-house creepers in our dreams
Of Eden, flee before we mean
To throw the worms out with the waters
Rife with hated spawn
And set a sword to whirl and slaughter
All vipers at the gates of dawn