On Proctor’s ledge I made my bed
Following the ****** scores
Through grey fog, thick as cold death.
Screaming gallows want my head...
To dance across their blood stained floors.
This opaque sky is my one true friend  
Oh the exquisite view it does afford!
Peering down those rotten trap doors.

Puritan villagers spew hate
Lighting my ***** feet
As this frayed rope keeps me safe.
Smooth grey rocks hidden away...
By broken sticks and amber leaves.
I left them on the ground where they lay
Just to preserve this caliginous scene!
Eighteen others shall soon agree.