Stood there leaning to the city moon,
Casting silhouettes tall to grip her white rooms
The black-clad voyeur in his black-clad masque
In the serpentine sun of tragedy basked
Stood there cursing at the soul-dead mass
With their fabled illusions, the vain dreams that passed
Splinters of a life rushing by in the whirl
Alone, silent warrior in a fantasy world
So, swept in the shroud of misanthropia he went away
And fed the empty galleries
With the artifacts of the black rain
Sunken into the shadows with a dry, sardonic smile
He made the footprints a part of his heart
To rouse a sacred confrontation
Stood there carving on the monument to lies
Digging of the Earth, making friends with the soil
As the all-mother rises and bares her bleeding thighs
He disappears into her cold, icy womb