Sunday, November 13, 2005

The Laughing Mountain

In the darkness of the night,
So the Prophet rides to fight
And as he spreads his blackened wings
It is of blood and glory that he sings.

Ask me not the way
For I walk alone.

My fair Ophelia, I loved her well.

Marked and marked by Ravens black
One looks forward
The Other’s looking back

Even the jackals want to dance with the wolves. My crows just eat the dead.

Give us fire. Give us death. Give us Barabbas.

And the seas will run red with the blood of the multitudes.

The vision is over.

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