I generate my infinite form

Become that of primitive worlds

Cursed into the shackles of intellect

Flourished in the time of that which is formless

Born not of the earth

Possession of native flesh to mask infiltration

Thus relinquishing the spirit that guides my kind

Flourished in the time of that which is formless

Sight

Be my primitive sacrifice

I collect the desired artifacts of that which another land may be cultivated

Souls aid my abilities of levitation

So the spirit may endow me with reclamation of their kind

I generate my infinite form

Become that of primitive worlds

Cursed into the shackles of intellect

Flourished in the time of that which is formless

Born not of the earth

Possession of native flesh to mask infiltration

It is revealed in those who disintegrate before me

I thirst for the temple that bears the citrus