The pendulum swings and in the background Poe sings me a ditty,
a pity he's not the one bound to bad fortune.

As soon as the blade passes over I go under,
the anaesthetic knows how to peel my defences away.

Swish,
but I wish it was the sound of a lady in a fine dress moving slowly and not the blade coming across and again there's a, but, but that's designed to depress me.

Eventually
there'll be nothing left of me.

In one Summertime a long time ago before the book and the story, before the raven or crow when the mornings were ****** unbroken by man and the breeze lifted secrets before the pendulum sang, before the cut, before the be all and end all and before the first, but,
there was an infinite science that lifted my brow, but that was a long Summer ago and look at me now.

I have lost to the minute, thrown down my cards
and the game,
I am no longer in it.