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."
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 9:05 AM UTC
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.
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