§

Past the shambling, faceless crowd

Where but the faithful are allowed

Runs a great and staircased spire

Drenched all in aphotic mire

§

Ascend the lift and thread the stair

Unto the court, if should thou dare

The nameless lord there sits the throne

Of primal fears and sepulchred bone

§

He speaks in voices, many yet one

And moves likewise; as candleabrum

He glows afire, with magnificent will

And centipedal ire, to consume the ill

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