Karma issues forth like a serpent head from the great tunnel within. I am all about our Time, just as a wreath enshrouding her fiery tongue. Unsheathe the mechanisms of night and even here, beneath the midday Sun, I pay my dues to the successor of daylight… I pay my sinful ledger in thick, creeping blankets of lava – blood of the god upon whose skin I scuttle and crawl, from whence I usher the encircling comet of light by which my deeds be done. She has wandered all about my periphery and I have known the graves of her homeland, and in my vacuum of mind I have seen the final wisps of her licking mist trailing from her chambers. I am home… chilled in her catacomb.