you who are little ones of night
anquish is the blackeyed youth.
who joins us for the fete.
dancing with the man in jet
with carmine dew flitting out
and soulless waves are crashing down.
the thunderous mourning sound
and all the fiends danced around
the lethal underpaths
the cauldrons smoke with pain
feral butchers feed thier lust
now sleep the sleep forever must
we all who have no reverie
the night is fallen and closes in
and the mists are so unkind
posted by F.G. Shaw @ 2:05 AM
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