Anon, he walked, bodkin in hand, distempered in soul
Gall consumed, as ecstasy embraced with fetid arms
Blackened apple-johns hang noose-like on blood-bolstered vista
Bale ravens, their onyx mazzards cackling phraseless
A bugbear now he, soon alit by saffron moon
‘T is man…and quell must he
‘Til time…shall chime…finis
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