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”