The clouds make haste for the dark moon,
As it climbs over fire and rook
In a town that shall slumber soon,
For solace by a jester long betook.
A boy at a corner rough-hewn
Laughs and cries and dances alone.

The clouds make haste for the dark moon,
Past the mirror, sees the boy now grown.
Naked and loved in winter’s June—
But solace by a jester long betook,
Lest the seams of Fate now lie sown,
As soul and heart hang by the hook.

For solace by a jester long betook—
The clouds make haste for the dark moon.