Another year for the immortals
With celebrations to conduct
And future members to annoint –
To triumphantly instruct

In our secret cult of cults
That raise unwilling men
From their decaying slumber –
Snatched from the Lion’s den.

The horrors from their faces still
Echoing in darkness of a past century
These actors in ancient entertainment
Bring us all our revelry.

So pour the wine, my dear,
And watch the disemboweled writhe in pain
For dying is an immortal’s pleasure
And the beauty of the insane.