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Fear Of The Thing Itself
The clock hits twelve.
The moonlight in his cell.
He strokes and preens and awaits...
the arrival of the queen.
The one he met
those years ago in wet.
The night she changed his life,
with the mission and the knife.
She comes!
She comes!
She comes!
Her words like running waters flow.
The voice of heaven speaks!
The voice commands his hands to dance...
Long white beard bent and weird.
Twisted fingernails.
Eyes afeared.
Whispered voices to himself.
Messages from the elf.
Twists of joy.
Curls of lust.
Skin of leather and mind of rust.
Fairies dancing on the shelf.
Fear of the thing itself.
She comes!
She comes!
She comes!
Golden halo of the queen.
Her words like flowing wine.
Showing images unseen.
Enraptured by her love.
He sits and paints
in solitude and peace,
he baits the trap and awaits
the arrival of the priest.
The doctors say
his mind is miles away
but such is genius
with a touch of murderous.
She comes!
She comes!
She comes!
Her words like running waters flow.
The voice of heaven speaks!
The voice commands his hands to dance...
Long white beard bent and weird.
Twisted fingernails.
Eyes afeared.
Whispered voices to himself.
Messages from the elf.
Twists of joy.
Curls of lust.
Skin of leather and mind of rust.
Fairies dancing on the shelf.
Fear of the thing itself.
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