Stood there leaning to the city moon,
  Casting silhouettes tall to grip her white rooms
  The black-clad voyeur in his black-clad masque
  In the serpentine sun of tragedy basked
  
  Stood there cursing at the soul-dead mass
  With their fabled illusions, the vain dreams that passed
  Splinters of a life rushing by in the whirl
  A lone, silent warrior in a fantasy world
  
  He cried for night/ but night could not come
  So, swept in the shroud of Misanthropia
  he went away
  And fed the empty galleries
  With the artifacts of the black rain
  Sunken into the shadows with a dry, sardonic
  Smile
  
  He made the footprints a part of his heart
  To rouse a sacred confrontation
  
  Stood there carving on the monument to lies
  Digging of the earth, making friends with the soil
  As the all-mother rises and bares her bleeding
  Thighs
  He disappears into her cold, icy womb.