• The dreary be damned
    There here lies a grave
    Where evil creatures squrim with delight
    There are seething monsters hearing and seaching so carelessly
    She waltzes in beauty like the night so bloodlessly … so mindlessly sinless
    Awoken by a constant dripping sound
    But she-so soft, so calm, yet eloquent
    Here comes the water
    We all know your secrets
    it comes to wash away the sins so murderously split
    Not dead am I: of done deeds
    Splattered it is on a shallow grave
    The dripping still
    Continues
    In the dead of night
    A clean tomb lays, once beautiful with the sublimest sculptures,
    But now fallen into
    great decay
    Skin rots like it foolishly does so
    Fear now spluttered so cruelly even the boldest men may feel
    It this pleasure to you?
    Flashbacks of dancing shadowy grins
    Born in blood in every single time
    Drip, Drip, Drip, and Drip
    Something horrible, an atrocious sensation, a sort of decomposition of the soul,
    a terrible spasm of brain and heart,
    the very memory
    which brings a shudder of anguish
    In a silent graveyard
    Under abnormal conditions,
    under certain mysterious influences
    in the presence of vague peril do we all
    sense like a ticklish finger against our covering wrappings
    Like holy water
    It only burns you faster than you'll ever dry
    Dead am I not

    . . . . . .