Loved it, particularly the first one. I haven't heard that poem in so many years, I simply did not recognize it. But the audio work was fantastic.
The poem in particular struck me, because what was said differed from what I heard, but in wonderful ways that were obviously Alien. This is what I heard.
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes nimbly
The Music of the Spears.
Minds, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
That motley drama—oh, be sure
It shall not be forgotten!
With its Ventrum chased for evermore
By a crowd that sees it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth into
the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and War and Sin,
And Horror, the soul of the blood.
But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
The minds become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out—out of the lights—out all!
And over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
that the play is the tragedy, of Man
And its hero, the Conqueror of Worlds.