The dimming sky yonder, it winks at the night, a subtle breeze which kisses the mighty nerves of war. I hear the crashing waves, an endless crush of memories against dull stone. Their epic history remains, dormant hulks of barnacle and bone, fresh scrapes on the knee of time.

Gentle snowflakes emerge, the call of winter nigh on the heels of death, a flickering ash which brushes the lapel of tyrants. I weep for sacred virgins, tears of copper and ice, glacier tombs for lovers lost in paradise. Yes, this is mercy, the will of Gods who kill, the creed of unwashed pagans, each swinging from a pendulum of broken hope.

What sliver is this upon my thumb, black veins filled with infection and sludge, a surging river which gurgles in the tired lung. Listen closely, for I have no heart for baby. I have no tongue, no ears, no eyes – no remorse. The piper has lost his bet, his head is rolling now, thumping ever wayward in crimson spurts, incredulous eyes blinking, his tender folly at hand.

Indeed, love has no barriers, it spits like a phantom in the eye of truth. It has words that stain, passions which lie in naked filth. I hear the fiddler calling, he plays a sour dirge, a toothless fool with no fingers at a Viking funeral. Amen I say, Amen...