I call from the great winds that turn
unseen, unheard
with silent whispers that roam
the thick dark moonless night.

I roam with my spawn
of monstrous eyes and ears
feeding to never fill
but growing to fill a daunting void.

Your toil feeds my drunken smile
Your blood overruns my cup
And as your bloom wanes,
Your tears fall.

Come,
pierce me with a thousand oaths,
forsake me with a thousand vows,
I will yet rise,
the fruit of rotten entrails.

So though in a moment, the wind be silent,
It shall call again and you shall sow, my child,
for you shall find your harvest
in the whirlwind.