Trapeses strung on Shakespare lines; vivid like the richest wines. The arts unite and intertwine in stunts of cruel dimensions. Trembling hands in steady hold, tears behind a mask so bold. Go for silver, go for gold; the thirty piece temptation.
Hazard games in clairvoyants’ house, a faceless crowd he can’t arouse. -Another jester, another Faust or another fallen angel? Unimpressed, the shroud of frost between him and his viewing host blurres his polished contraposte to an unknown, misplaced stranger.
“A twist and spin performed so well from a drape-framed prison-cell a droplet from an empty well to myriads of eyes. A face so wet with silver tears behind the smiling mask he wears, like gems behind a dragon’s lair, drop diamonds where he cries.”
Irae, the jester of the court, the one and only of the sort, knows his tricks are running short, and whispers; “come what may”; All comes down to his final jest, the only unseen joke that’s left; his very own zoolock-life-theft, and thus then, dies Irae.
Thus dies Irae was written back in 2003 for the band Philomel's Epitaph, but as the album was put on hold and the project eventually abandoned, it remained a poem in its original form.