Evening comes ...
And the gray ghost bleeds across a jagged sky
As destiny plucks our strings
Tis a play seen only by the bumble bee
for the gods of the mezzanine
We drink tears from the scorpion's eye
And swim in that which is unseen
the abyss that swallows up the fire fly
are the gods of the mezzanine
Come night ye gothic stalking steed
the sun is but an apple to your serpentine
when they kill us for their sport and feed
these gods of the mezzanine
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