I saw my eyes flood with bile Susceptible mind so easily scathed Entrails burning with gangrene And angst builds the devil's spider nest The world of ghosts is not closed for us Yet we dwell in bardo with outstretched arms Bowing our heads as we wait to be baptized In a great lake of gloom In the black bile cold and dry Filled with excess filled with angst Melancholic waiting for mercer Soaked in black bile cold and dry