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Azathoth, the slumbering, sightless prince of daemons,

who dwells dreaming in the center of rippling chaos

beyond the ordered universe in a palace

whose dimensions defy all conceivable geometries,

and whose malicious idiocy birthed the world, thinks you’re garbage

Out in the mindless void the daemon bore me,

Past the bright clusters of dimensioned space,

Till neither time nor matter stretched before me,

But only chaos, without form or place

Here the vast lord of all in darkness muttered

things he had dreamed but could not understand,

while near him shapeless bat-things flopped and

fluttered in idiot vortices that ray-streams fanned

Outside the ordered universe is that amorphous blight of

Nethermost confusion

which blasphemes and bubbles at the center of all infinity

whence flow the aimless waves whose chance

combining gives each frail cosmos its eternal law

Whose name no lips dare speak aloud,

and who gnaws hungrily in inconceivable,

unlighted chambers beyond time and space

amidst the muffled maddening beating of vile drums

and the thin monotonous whine of cursed flutes

They danced insanely to the high

clutched in a monstrous paw

“I am his messenger,” the daemon said,

 as in contempt he struck his master’s head

Azathoth! Azathoth! Azathoth!

The boundless daemon prince

Yog-Sothoth! Yog-Sothoth! Yog-Sothoth!

The being, a congeries of iridescent spheres