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[O]utside the ordered universe [is] that amorphous blight of nethermost confusion which blasphemes and bubbles at the center of all infinity—the boundless daemon sultan Azathoth, whose name no lips dare speak aloud, and who gnaws hungrily in inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time and space amidst the muffled, maddening beating of vile drums and the thin monotonous whine of accursed flutes.

All alone does Tomino
          go falling into that hell,
          a hell of utter darkness,
          without even flowers.
          
          Is Tomino’s big sister
          the one who whips him?
          The purpose of the scourging
          hangs dark in his mind.
          
          Lashing and thrashing him, ah!
          But never quite shattering.
          One sure path to Avici,
          the eternal hell.
          
          Into that blackest of hells
          guide him now, I pray—
          to the golden sheep,
          to the nightingale.
          
          

The nightingale in her cage,
          the sheep aboard the wagon,
          and tears well up in the eyes
          of sweet little Tomino.
          
          Sing, o nightingale,
          in the vast, misty forest—
          he screams he only misses
          his little sister.