The mystical caves of crystal in Conker
 The mouth of the demon holds wide
 The physical realm is a quizzical saunter
 through whimsical triggers we hide

Swallow the water that pours of the eyes
Fall to the shadows that croon
Sing to the lord in the land of the lies
in the cream opal voice of the moon

Deep in the darkness
Steep are the the fangs
Lost to the cost of the forms that we frame
Creeping in cactals
Seeping our pores
When bright shiny fractals of crystals unstore in the ore of our youth
Florals in sauna
Aurorial fauna
The feast of ambrosia that praises the ages unpouring the shores of our truth

Lay down untelling
Your borders are swelling
You’re smelling the secrets you store
Dive in the depth of your mythical self:
The weatlh of the wages we war