Night falls on the rhythmic breathing of those you love
But your eyes are wide staring at fancies above
The wall hole, beckons with the chilly air of winter
At three, you recall something sinister
The lady who feeds the mice you host
Sings folklore of a 3 o’clock ghost

At three comes the man they hung
Wounded and warped and missing a tongue
Education did not save his soul
Can it save yours? Can you be sure
White power making black clouds appear
Over heads that wear crowns heavier

That what their pale perfect shoulders can carry
From dust they rose and now they marry
Within soft wares because their soft part
Has gone hard, filled with crime they avert
Where there was blood rush there is blue bruise
Remnant of a stationary life they cruised

Through with crude depravity
A stationary person is pulled down by gravity
Twice as hard as any other
Once by the matter given by their mother
And once by matter of their own planting
Grounded and then wings granting

The wishes they never knew they wished for
An excess that a simple man would abhor
But now in that abyss they live
Of take and take and forget to give
Rat tat tat tat runs away their time
Before they know at doors of shrines

They stand broken bruised and black
Still complaining of what they lack
Fists filled with sands of complaint
To let go, their fingers were not trained
Ending up in nooses, wrecks and chilly bogs
Madhouses, mountains and finally, morgues