The Universe is driven by the low and abiding utterance,
The sound sound of undecay,
The vital impermanence.
It is driven by the mammoth vocal chords of a Supercluster Dragon,
With wings of time,
And scales of dimension.
We make Him,
Along with his black ethereal consanguinity,
And ambiguliar coloration.
Aloft,
In unfleeting glide, for nothing flies,
With a cohort of many like entities.
Cannibals.
