We who run from the presence of the sun By the voided bitter gleam chasing darkness like a dream All with weary tasks fordone īscape the serpents tounge To catch the shadow, let the substance fall Like the sun's bright beam entagled in melancholy Entagled in the black roars of an image's stream Put the wretch that lies in woe in rememberance of a shroud The match agreed with flames admired Now I find hideousness in mind Shall I disturb this hallowed house? I have been sent with dusk before to sweep the dust behind the door
