On Death's midnight hour I had not dream
The days hath gone away -- I couldn't deem
That the elder of these angels left the throne
And flown so sorrowfully by thee alone --
But thy lonesome soul shall limn to see
    Not one hovering spirit free --
And where -- shall the asperity scythe cast
Over visions of the shadowed Past --
   Of torrent of tormenting trauma
Filled with Manichaean mount and karma
  Restlessly rolling down necropolis
Past foot-hills of the dread that drop polis --
Or of the sound of a susurrus winged-sylph whom soar
Yet thunder her voice in a stricken Lion's roar
  And uphold herself on heavens vault
  And dare to curse that its all my fault --
So what now -- what now when the worst
  Is the Devil's tempest durst
      To ever define me to what I am today
           To ever price my soul to what I have to pay
When the final price was paid when the Lord bled fast away.