From the recording Skinflint
He heard outside the terror
Panic-stricken they were running
From the shadow spanning
The swallowing monster
The shapeless evil grew
Touching the rays of the sun
Blinding the village whole
In its nebulous pall
He saw the metamorphosis
Of horns and sheep and humans
Taking the form of all
The cries it swallowed
He felt his time was up
There was nowhere to run
He grabbed his spear to fight
He too was swallowed alive
Twisted rivers
Floating in its belly
Carrying trees
.. And living things
His wounds were deep
Unable to swim
Against the stream
Of destiny
A buzzing orchestra
Of egg laden flies
Awaited him
By the river banks
Standing on the terrain
Made of crocodile skin
He looked across the horizon
Huts stood occupied
With people almost dead
Held together with sutures
He saw teeth in the clouds
Protruding from the sky
Raining Saliva
The pain in his soul
Tears in despondency
Is this the village of the dead?