Like the abyss of Mateth
The gates of Paloteath lie numb and wait
Thursdays our morning
But Monday awaits
For fresh pleasure at her door
When slavers come with fresh shackles and sharp braces
Come now come along my love
Be not afraid
Be with me and go into the distance
And cease your peer at sights which do I nor you good
Fly with me, oh come fly please
Of that ever mysterious severed space