When the gods left with smoke and ashes, nWho do you think was there?nSix fingered dealers eager to show all their wares.nnOnly the blind man knows the road.nOnly the faithful can let go.nTrespassing the garden, lantern is flickeringnBelow the surface, waters are bickeringnAleister Crowley, there’ll be no golden Dawn,nOnly the molten tongue of Metatron.nnYou just cool spellbinder, shaking up a bag of tricks.nAnd your house made of mirror, and your house made of sticks.
Spellbinder
The Company Band
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