THE DEATHSHEAD


The incessant drumming and beating

Upon the light at the window.

And though you’re ready to sleep

You just have to know

What comes after beyond

What comes after the sill.

The mists of your will

Are ready to go

Ready to flow

Down the pathway of night.

Ready to follow the moth into the night.

And shuck off your cares

Leave your loved ones downstairs.

And fly.

Fly and be free.

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