John Frum Assumption Of Form
Creation's breath holds a hedonic aroma
Carried on a bellowing voice, calling for a changing of the guard
Seeping forth from prolapsed earth
Pyres fueled by the molten hearth
Dwelling where the transformation incubates
The sun around which all truly rotate
Long enough has this been a false reliquary
A land forsaken for crafted surfeit
Will be a land that none deserve
Now seek the salvation biding within mine churning furnace
Mine is the coming of the thawing of the impermafrost
The spreading of forgotten lands
The cast chalice in which essence is held
Beyond the threshold of life's sculpted mold
Magmatic demiurge awakens from a ruptured aeon
Ushering a reckoning reclamation
Observed from a panopticon of fumarolic oubliettes
Oh, impudent beasts, who have exceeded their bounds
To have bested the inaugural waters of life
And escaped to a lesser existence
Unsanctioned terrestrial dawning
Faith lies in ruin at the bottom of the sea
Cast into the roil by those who first spread its plague
False belief beheld by purveyors of artifact
What magic is this that could inspire such avarice?
Aeon overwritten by rolling splendor of earthflesh
A new gospel is imbued in every igneous fold
Great eradicator, humanity's widow
Awaiting the coming of a successor
Equalizing feral land for a more worthy contender
Let the new inhabitant revel in the failure of man
And take nothing from its disavowed heritage
This earth is soma