The road wailed through the weird,
as fear would rise from orchard to weald,
galloping nightmares in fecundity;
galloping nightmares in ferocity.
The door died on the hinge,
as locks would rust from Hell to home,
shivering in the cold decline;
shivering in the cold denial of time.
The end arrived upon a stead of twilight,
as death would reign from terror to trite,
encroaching lash of that human spine;
encroaching damnation of searching eyes.
The soul was gone,
perished with a call,
from the Dullahan.