A beautiful song,Such a sweet melody.Enchanting voices,Leading to the sea.A bottomless pit,Filled with water.A tranquil paradise,Immersed in laughter.Warm welcomes,Cries of delight.When we're submerged,We're hidden from light.Knowing glances,Shared secrets.As the dwellers,Come to meet us.
Faint music,In the distance.Drawing closer,To my existence.A worthless creation,Cast away.Returning now,Revenge at bay.Velvet curtains,Silk sheets,A life of riches,And luxury.Compared to these,Pitiful beings.Yet no one around,To so much as see us.
Take a hold nowOn the silver handles here,Six silver handles,One for each of his old pals.Take holdAnd lift him down the stairs.Put him on the rollersOver the floor of the hearse.Take him on the last haul,To the cold straight house.The level even house,To the last house of all.The dead say nothingAnd the dead know muchAnd the dead hold under their tonguesA locked-up story.
I am not the black cat.There were four of us;my grandmother,a black cat,a myth,and I.My grandmother oftentold us a myth.When you are ill, she said,if a black catcomes and sits on your bedit means that youwill die soon.I was only six,seriously ill.Our black cat
He wakes, who never thought to wake again,Who held the end was Death. He opens eyesSlowly, to one long livid oozing plainClosed down by the strange eyeless heavens. He lies;And waits; and once in timeless sick surmiseThrough the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,Like a dry branch. No life is in that land,Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speckOf moveless horror; an Immortal OneCleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a flyFast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse's neck.I thought when love for you died, I should die.It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.