We shall feast on the ledger to make it new. Devourer of the corrupt, and spirit of the reconciled. The surgeon and plague, the cut that leads to wellness.
And you, oh physician, shall address where you bleed. For absolution is yours when ordered.
For we shall become drunk on red beer to gentle uncontrolled retribution. Such a gaze cast us to earth, in war, divine destruction, to uphold the law.
And we have known our cubs in protection, healing, and sanctity. Our right eye commands it, and our righteous Wrath knows it.
And golden is the day, when our rays tore flesh and made splints for healing bones. Then our house was the body of each person. Their roar is a victory cry.
We are the mother of magick. For what eye was blinded by our brother, and taken from our holy one. Taken by the desert, confimation of dust, dust as all, all as dust.
Plucked from the left to become transformation, reflection and healing. Plucked as you shall be, like one grain of sand. Calling to the moon, healing and reflection. But remembering, power, and illumination.
What pieces did i collect, what parts to assemble our loved one, as we shall assemble you. To restore, to uncover. What is unknown is only given to the ready, the wanting, the willing.
We shall be the container that is empty, and when looked in the container shall fade. And one single desert grain is not overlooked, and does not pass through us, unless initiated.
We shall remember you, when the remembered becomes what you are. And if you mourn, it will restore you. And if you rejoice, then it shall be received as the sweetness of Hathor.
