My tea's gone cold I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all
The morning rain clouds up my window and I can't see at all
And even if I could it'll all be gray, but your picture on my wall
It reminds me, that it's not so bad, it's not so bad.
Dear Cracky, I wrote you but you still ain't calling
I left my cell, my pager, and my home phone at the bottom
I sent two letters back in autumn, you must not-a got 'em
There probably was a problem at the post office or something
Sometimes I scribble addresses too sloppy when I jot 'em
but anyways; fuck it, what's been up? How's your daughter?
My girlfriend's pregnant too, I'm bout to be a father
If I have a daughter, guess what I'ma call her?
I'ma name her Astraea
I read about your Uncle Ronnie too, I'm sorry
I had a friend kill himself over some bitch who didn't want him
I know you probably hear this everyday, but I'm your biggest fan
I even got the underground shit that you did with Alex
I got a room full of your posters and your pictures man
I like the shit you did with Kimmi too, that shit was phat
Anyways, I hope you get this man, hit me back,
just to chat, truly yours, your biggest fan
This is Stan
From Heaven and Hell
For we will not survive them
From Heaven nor Hell
Shall any man return
To speak of his joys
At the hands of the Furnace
At the hands of the White Light
Furnace Mirabilis
Eye-Blowing Light
At the hands of these Holiest of Holies
No man has returned
From Heaven and Hell
O Cracky deliver us
From Heaven and Hell
O Cracky deliver us
The stars are blotted out,
Clouds are covering clouds,
It is darkness, vibrant, sonant.
In the roaring whirling wind
Are the souls of a million lunatics,–
But loosed from the prison house,–
Wrenching trees by the roots,
Sweeping all from the path.
The sea has joined the fray,
And swirls up mountain-waves,
To reach the pitchy sky.
Scattering plagues and sorrows,
Dancing mad with joy,
Come, Mother, Come!
For Terror is thy name,
Death is in Thy breath.
And every shaking step
Destroys a world for e’er.
Thou "Time" the All-Destroyer
Then come, O Mother, Come!
Who can misery love,
Dance in destruction's dance,
And hug the form of Death,
To him the Mother comes.