Tales from the Crypt
Once upon a weary night
Whence old moon pondered
Burning away her silver light
In days of yore she hath decorated
Perched amongst the wandering craven
Weaved tales of tales begotten
“Look on thy lands so tender
They speaketh unto minds moved
Of streaming springs and bitter kings
That hath paved the path of yore
To man his own vengeance and pride
That bloometh redder still than the white pitcher
And though they fought and bled
Through time’s endless days and dusky nights
They learn not, they rise not to the cry of sullen earth
My worn eyes need not recollect time’s age
For time and again, through ages and years,
Man’s ludicrous tale simpers, fleers and recommences
Prances beloved earth through heaven and hell”
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