The beaker trembles with the salt-brine of the march
A distillate of keratin and golden ethanol
Extracted from the arches of the weary and the damned
I lift the cup where the phalanges have bled into the brew
No vintage of the vine
But the harvest of the sole
Sweat-soaked spirits rise to greet the shivering tongue
A libation of the lowlands
For a spirit meant to soar.

The bile turns to holy fire!
The fever is the ladder to the sun!
Through the sweat and the sickness of the earth!
The ascension has begun!
The ascension has begun!

The gastric lining peels away
Like parchment from a burning scroll
Toxins morphing into starlight
Purging the mortality from my bone
I vomit constellations onto the dirt
The pulse is a thunderclap
My skin is translucent glass
Witness the metamorphosis of the wretched into the high.

I am the god of the foot-stain!
The monarch of the mud and the sweat!
Exalted by the degradation!
A deity the world won’t forget!
A deity the world won’t forget!

Lick the heel of the universe!
Taste the glory in the rot!
(In the rot…)
Behold the divinity in the discarded!
The wisdom in the heat of the walk!

The vile drink has crowned my brow with light
I stand alone upon the peak
No longer bound by flesh and hunger
The silence is the only truth I speak
Divine and distant
Born of the floor and the feast
The god of the salt-sweat… at last, I am at peace.