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Sleep’s own bride

Saint of haze, in dreams she grieves

A gift of sleep no soul believes

Into the garden lost and drowned

O Saint Trina, cast me down, veiled and fair

Children of dusk

Wandering the fog where her heart blessing starts

Sleep without end, with no memory left

To bear a names

In the garden where memory wilts

She walks ‘neath veils of slumber’s silk

Petals fall like whispers drowned

In fields where truth may not be found

Eyes of violet, void and wide

As thought dissolves

With lotus tongue she seals the mind

A kiss to leave the self behind

And sleep shall steal the world away

Through roots of myth and ghostly vines

Her truths are told in lulling lines

Oh bless the broken, the dazed, the damned

Who rest beneath her shadowed hand

A faith without a priest or shrine

But in soft lies her worship shines

Saint of sleep

Wilt thou weep

Or cradle all the lost in deep

Forever and ever

Forever and ever

We drank the dew, we smoked the bloom

And now we kneel, alive in tomb

No past, no shape, no pain to hold

Just perfect sleep, serene and cold

Her altar built from bones of thought

Where even gods are left to rot

And if we wake, we wake in vain

The gift is sleep, the curse, the brain