Blow out the lamps; night has fallen.
Cast your kings aside
and underlunacized
we will dance the mystic
all rings & things offed like Death itself.
Indeed, Death is the joke eternal:
one who breathes can know it not
one who breathed has known it thus.
So let it ride on that line of Death,
between breath and less,
the howling of wolves covering
the sounds of souls on air.
If we fail . . . there is no fail
as the elseworld falls to dreams.
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