Lone wolves howl, amongst stark runes;
Fresh blood trickles, darkness looms;
Cicatrice deepen, the chorus croons,
"Shall the culprit be on the noose?"
Enter the cycle of doom
The infinite loop, the irrepressible gloom
Chase the culprit, for his forfeit
A pound of flesh, not any less
Two wrongs make a right, that is such fright.
The receding light, impurities dried bright.
Chase your tail, the winding trail.
Punish the culprit, or vulnerability...
Derailed, derailed, now left in a whited sepulchre.
The raucous crow, oblivious loon;
Why the sorrow, why the gloom ;
Dreams are haunted, resolve swoons;
Reproach's rampant, watch the harpoon-
Tether at the edge of a calming lagoon.
Near the ledge, plays the familiar tune;
Black curtains droop, the ends are loose-
"Shall I, shall I, then be on the noose?"
No comments:
Post a Comment