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letra de tales from the tomb - historian himself

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there beneath the unfinished cathedral it sleeps

a being of incarnated hatred
a malformed leftover from before the days of creation
cast away and encased in a great marble block
a chapter in its dark story was amended
when it was split open in the court and it spilled forth from its chrysalis, leathery and headless

a foul mist wreathing betwixt its lengthy limbs
woven of flesh and forsaken sin

thirsting for blood which it absorbed through its porous skin
it only just touched but a small cut on the mason’s shin
and in a twitching spasm it came alivе and began to grasp, took hold of him and he collapsed, likе a sponge wrung dry

for the next fifty-five years it roamed the countryside
savoring the suffering of peasants and deer
its weird whistling and chirps were the last things they’d hear

the bravest could not slay it
their remains were found deflated and hanging from the face of a large boulder as if some carnal parchments pasted

so a monk with knowledge of the ancients was called forth to perform an archaic babylonian ceremony to contain it

with the entrails of an infant, it was lured into that dim crypt where a trap was laid, sealed behind a riveted iron gate it was caged with the monk
along with four warriors and a bubbling cauldron of anointing oils which they swiftly tipped

and in this violence it was bathed, the effect of the strange potion slowly stiffening its limbs

and then, blessed spears to its spine it was subdued and moved to the center of the tomb

and there in the fragile candlelight
the priest performed an arcane sacrifice
he would take his own life
and that of the four warriors with the knife of jade

all fallen, like moths trapped in place dusty and solemn, the inscription read:

“follow them down the path of a dried bl–dy riverbed”

a red circle drawn around the being that woke from before there were days

their skulls were de-brained and laid beside their necks flayed
a grim image painted on stone walls as all horrors echoed from the vaulted ceiling and rang with mortal pain as great warriors gave their flesh to keep that old evil contained

there they lay, now with their remains and their armor arranged and so long as they stay their spirits stand guard over the dark god encapsulated in curving bony plates that are still slowly growing to this day…

there beneath the unfinished cathedral…

…it sleeps

- historian himself

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