The twisted wings and cluds unfold   And the greatgape of He who fell   Makes darkened shadows over pointed spires   Little children point and sing   And little children run and dance   Over there the setting sun   And under that the silent stars   And under they the weeping sky   And under Her the laughing world   (Balance sits in western parts   And piles spare Spares in his gabled room)   Great Anarch and Monarch of Not   The Flight of Lucifer over London   And my little grandson   Wrinkled son forehead   All tiny blue pain   As the Mother Blood emerges   Then the Mother Grief   And the Blue Gates of Death   Open armwide   Open teethwide   All dead like the leaves   Old times shiver   Old dead calendar   Past blurred sunsets   Cinders flying in His heart His heart   His fingers punch holes in the sky   (And all the little Christs I count   Are covered in the breathwhite snow   And all the little Christs I call   Are laughing through the green green fields)   Some of those angels have the face of God   And some of them have the face of dogs   (By the Tower of Moad - see the sky's Greenangel form)   And lucifer flickers all around me   His hooded eyes alight   In the smoky musk   Look into Him just a little longer   See the true face of the Moon   So He wheels there through the heavens   His eyes are dotted brightlights   Licked with dust   A golden seabird   Halfdead with spray   His banners broken flags in the wind   Devouring life he breaks at walls   The glint of dead fruits glint   And then the Moon...   And then the Moon...   And then the Moon...      (And sixsixsix   It makes us sick   We're sicksicksick   of 666)