The moon has been shrouded by sullen skies,
And the rays of the gleeful lose their appeal.
The loss of such comfort brings always a rage
As the calm of the beast is lost in recluse.
The skin of a statue creeps slowly now
Upon eyes and mouth to freeze my expression.
And as the loss of my monster is found
Then an infinite cry shall never be quelled
Until the moonlight is shined abroad
And those ravenous teeth have torn at freedom.
Then my true flesh is revealed and distinguished
As cries have been ceased, and life is released.