This hour, this hour so still
Hanging thin in pieces of tranquil
The air dense with the whiffs of untame
The scents will never be the same
Somewhere meanwhile that eerie night
Lay shades between the black and white
Within those shades a bottle broke
From which those spectral voices rose
Skrieks and screams, sounds on a rise,
Muffling out the whispers and sighs.
Blinding those men who could see -
Making them fall to their knee.
They turned up at every nook and bend
Burying things God-sent
Impending doom lingering
A dark soul withering
Like the crumbling smoke
Soaring up from the morgue.
These voices, they will never stop
I go to sleep. I
layoff.
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