I love the night and all the damage it can do...
Math in leaves tries to speak, but you hit end note.
And nothing but witches are let loose, in your wild
Succulent dream. Air spins faster than you can think,
twirling like high society women, who take their time,
no, that's a terrible comparison.
I've watched by candlelight near-dead men eat slugs
On your Christmas morning. No that's not it...
I love how you reinvent all the mistakes you make in the night
Into leaves of love for future daughters concatenating
In raw putrid daylight.
The night brings mistral auras and cruel delights.
To be fucking these last darkberry bights...
I think that's it.. here comes trouble...
Oh, joy, it's Night.
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