My hunger holds no interest for me. Rather than eat, my desire is to be eaten. This is not a place of honor / No highly esteemed deed is commemorated here . they call you, and your broken form responds; the shaking of your soul distorting the words until all you can do is let the tears flow. It's really about possession, the need to possess and be possessed and, personally, I think that's a recipe for doom - You think about the lips and dread the tongue, but forget the teeth. It was not that things decay, that the works of men are ephemeral, its believed he saw deeper than that. The things themselves were decay, the works themselves were corruption, the monuments were made of great crawling worms. Each of the horrors I've mentioned has built a tower in that metropolis, and in each tower there is a bell. When I brush up against something that is near enough to the original horror to remind me of its presence, it causes that bell to ring. Who might you be?  A celebrant?  Or perhaps... a fresh offering / you and I- we can be wonderful hosts for eachother .