O foul, fantastical dimension, speak;
Let not the shackles of the truth refrain
Thy tongue nor still the manner which doth seek
The cruel fashion with which to carry pain.
Thou art no monster but a realm thine own;
A chasm that dares not hear reason’s tone.
What art thou if not claim thou the deepest, dark seas
Or if thou dare not claim the most fearsome of fires?
How deserves thee thy name if thou plagues my mind not
With the ghouls of most elderly lands or shadows of Hell?
Indeed, dem’nic soul, pleasure doth befit thee not
If, by thy power, I feel naught but tame;
Nor may dark spirits hail thee with the rot
If, by thy junction, thou fails thine own name.
Dare, mighty spirit without form, I say my place
That thou would never fail to see to its disgrace.