By the crescent, we fall in a swoon.
We flourish the ending, we die by the moon.
Sub rosa! Compel and destroy!
Below the mystic mountains we bode our best.
And at the last stanza, we´ll disappear,
while the devil and me, you and the other,
the free monsters who live with us all,
erode and wipe out our putrid floor.
And this scene on the white but dizzily screen,
where the angels dance upon the knolls,
gray figures, black in classic evening gowns,
soothing background with an oblique antiphon.
Songful ministers clinching our dreams,
you and I, we were never ment to be.
We are, and we´ll always be the scorn,
the debris of this desert land.
The lilt sways against our feets,
making a move to the oncoming gravel.
Sleeping, and the air notes its cadence,
dying on the moribund culm,
where the angels lost their wings.
Embay them! Embay the mist-wreathing light!
And they shout and squall,
O the ghostly characters of our fall.
Their drear songs mingle on the wind,
fly amongst the sweet but a frightening sleep.
"Never ever wonder why, where they lay down and die."
Unlettered love is our ghost;
the amiable form of moiré.
This will never be a joyful song.
This blithe, this voicing smile of an euphoric earth,
the sky of a merrily morn, never to be born.
This never happened, --it was a broken lantern.
And the flowers, the child of us,
the old duo and the giant silver nights...
Waylay us! The monsters, and kill all slaves.
Our by-and-by, our one-horse towns,
the farmers of life, the gilt-edged laws, our golden trees.
Kill the messengers, slay the hopeful but lost,
burn down the bridges, litter the coasts.
Bring a day without a fray,
kill an innocent man and get away.
Thrive on the dead reveries,
blaze away the bullets of death.
Drop our families in the river,
blue eyes and blue fingertips,
black togs gladly drowning, shivering.
Heads are hanging low in this ship.
Alas! Alas! The whaleboat is softly sinking.
Hosanna! Dwelling in the highest!
Hosanna! Soaring behind the lowest doors!
Angels! Demons! Nay is our name!
Middle life. Cyclones!
The Destroyer! The destroyer of our homes.
The hooligan of this undamped high arch,
the vandals of our town march.
Open; we shall allay our dancefloors!
Queen-like heights, the high noons´ sight.
This is a new light upon the zenith´s moor,
where we came down to die, for evermore.