In a room off shores of ice, I pray into the mic
And every accidental word evokes a different side
The threads of now entangle me and pin me in the light

While another me inspects the sprawling man under his eyes
The altar is unassuming, just a box of lightning white
And through the spotless pane upon its face somewhere inside

Warring theories intercourse to frenzied births of kindred lives
And who of them prevails? Only one may yet survive...
An internecine holocaust behind the blinking light

Of embryonic selves that vie for ownership of I

In the furnace, we are forged anew with each refrain

At the altar where we pray, we have departed, though our bodies remain