| We rise with the sun in the underworld | 
| We suffer from a graveless name | 
| We prise wide lids | 
| And wounds with lips curled | 
| Over teeth that have tasted shame | 
| Cemetery and sundown | 
| Against the flora of nightfall | 
| We gather like the fauna of war | 
| To cure Aurora so spiteful | 
| With her stake in the coming of dawn | 
| To conjure forth the past | 
| Those heady nights of pain resplendent | 
| In the service of the Goddess of Death | 
| When her sheets ran royalty red | 
| Moon lengthen or crypt-kept silhouettes | 
| Shadows dance, eyes flicker in descent | 
| Unveil the greed, our needs are bitter, spent | 
| On upturned mouths and haunts of wickedness | 
| We walk this Eden, a secret | 
| Faces hidden under Leonine pride | 
| In dusk’s embrace | 
| We find it hard to keep it When blood and lust and waking worlds collide | 
| Too long have we skulked like drifters | 
| In the cities of the neon sun | 
| Vagabond dogs and graveyard shifters | 
| Mona Lisas where the paint has run | 
| I miss our glorious past | 
| Our nightly flights on fear dependent | 
| Like phantoms in the eaves for Miss Christine | 
| When the song bird broke her neck | 
| Wolves howl their fogbound serenades | 
| Churches arch their backs with balustrades | 
| Praise be to the shedding of masquerades | 
| When we hunt these vestal vermin unafraid | 
| Of the covenant made… | 
| Draw the blinds on the floors of raw meat | 
| There is murder in the thirst | 
| Rich red vascular tapestries | 
| Hung in gilded frames of nuns asleep | 
| In dreams where themes of bestiality | 
| Are a blessing on their Sunday sheep | 
| Sermons hang a black gown | 
| Over cemetery and sundown | 
| Now the clock is harrying midnight | 
| And the ghost of yet-to-come | 
| Will she show rewrites of dark delight | 
| Or the sewers we’ve overrun? | 
| I see a winter palace | 
| Cut diamonds at a porcelain neck | 
| When Swan Lake crushed poor sanity’s spirit | 
| As I threw her to it bled | 
| We rise with the sun in the underworld | 
| We suffer from a graveless name | 
| We prise wide lids | 
| And wounds with lips curled | 
| Over teeth that have tasted shame | 
| We walk this Eden, a secret | 
| Faces hidden under Leonine pride | 
| In dusk’s embrace | 
| We find it hard to keep it When blood and lust and waking worlds collide |