Silly fools, touching the planchette as it invades the haunts of spirits and demons their dangerous interaction pointing to blackened letters or the answers yes or no.
Open gateway something relentless creeps to the surface unbeknownst to anyone. Do they think this is a game, this summoning?
Bluesman, playing his guitar sings about a shadowy man on a dark road and the bargains he makes. Moonless skies and rumbling trains a strange twisting in guts as a crows caw spreading shiny wings.
Shadows, the long road is filled with shadow, filigreed limbs darkening fleeting time and the trains with their black smoky smudge muffling secrets.
A strange man turns up, like a carney in a traveling show to show us a frightening future. Spreading prophesies of horrible events along with the demise of millions, with demons gnawing human flesh. Then too there was the promise of the dead rising; exhumed bodies, an army of zombies marching.
Old men smoke their cigarettes, lungs crackling in phlegmy coughs, rheumy eyes filled with pain as they watch the children **** in frenzied dance their heads spinning clockwise. . . The train chugs off in the distance as the last illusion crumbles into a dark and rotting hole.
We no longer see the stranger. as the song comes to an end, yet disquieting things skitter on the edge of reason as they slither through our fear. Up ahead looms a fiery god staying trajectories of doom and damnation, while the Bluesman strums his old guitar on a ghost train going nowhere.