"A Thunderbolt in the northern Sky... ...And the roaring of a Lion..."
Swept up by the downy wings of angels Made from a heaven-laden voice, I float with all the weight of Ether - It pilots an aerie merchant's ship Across the phantasmagoric main.
Courses waged by hermits to lonesome starry shores Bequeath their secret entryways; Lighthouses watch fervently the horizons of the soul.
But Amaranth the Peddler waxes poetic to the Mnemosyne - His unmasked eyes deliver lunacy; It is a countless hour stealing Further into landscapes seldom drawn, Even in a demon's troubled head.
He sells his wares to Vampires In bottles cork'd by Woe; Dreams in liquid lift their eyes To Morpheus enthroned Upon a poppy field breathing Slightly all alone.
Feathers from a lofty wish Fall upon their own and fall Wearily to Earth - A stirring by the nightstand caused the Lamp to lift its voice.
"Alack, a purloined dream Again distills thy trembling eye! What mystery remaineth ever so?
Amaranth, a curse doth write itself Upon thy spectral frame, A thousand lives, a thousand days Disgraceth thus they name!"