Chapter LV

The graveyard of the gods is silent under a heavy sky, Where all the gods who never lived are buried when they die.

Pale angels kneel beside the graves, stretching row on row, And madmen carrying mouldy flowers quickly come and go.

A withered lily in her hand Saint Any-One-At-All, With pale, thin fingers opens the gate in an ivied wall.

Her face an open wound of wonder, bleeding with defeat, And as she walks, the shining snow crunches under her feet.

The ghosts of trees reach icy arms up to a starless sky, Mourning the gods who never were that rest here when they die.

Pale angels kneel beside the graves stretching row on row, And madmen carrying mouldy flowers quickly come and go.