Through the black of endless ages, where suns in silence bleed, He stirs within the dying flame, the hunger that precedes. The pulse of death resounds within, a tide of void, divine. O Amon-Sulath, devourer crowned, let all that burns be Thine. Behold the stars, now pale and blind, their orbits torn asunder. The firmament’s forgotten child, the harbinger of thunder. He drinks the breath of living flame, the breath becomes His will. Where light once spoke the words of God, the eater bids them still. Amon-Sulath, thou furnace wide! Eclipse the dawn! Unveil the tide! In thee the birth of night completes, the soul dissolves, the circle meets. Through broken halos, meteors weep, the sky adorned with rust. Each shard a psalm of dying grace, each echo born of dust. Thy hands unmake the cosmic dream, thy breath unbinds the years. The throne of God collapses now, beneath thy crown of spheres. Swallow the heart of time, O Flame, let silence bear thy mark. The infinite bows down in shame, and worships in the dark. For thou art death beyond decay, the end that cannot end. The cycle folds, creation fades— and all returns again. Amon-Sulath, thou serpent vast! Devour the future, feast the past! Through thee the night ascends in gold, the law undone, the stars grown cold. “O Lord of the Blind Sun, devour the dawn that dared to rise. In your breath, all memory perishes — and through your silence, we are free.”
