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Oct 2020
We'll hang up our cowls & capes

In the thick of the collapsed ruins

Cranking one last tune on expired phonographs

Groaning as osteofluorosis plays his merry tune again

Still, gazing with the vast emptiness of long-lost eyes,

As a long lost chord haunts these halls again, we mutter :

"I can hear it now, like I heard it then."
And after four months, the infernal typewriter roars again.

And soon, the next book will come to play.

Maiden of the black rag, your last encore is coming right up.
Batchelor
Written by
Batchelor  30/M/Singapore
(30/M/Singapore)   
277
 
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