Eyes fixed with dire ambition, we stalk, unknown, unseen, unheard but for sinister laughter, Shadow's Sons and Twilight's Daughters.
In sewer tunnels, slick with stinking moisture, vine-choked towers, neglected and forgotten In dimly lit cobblestone alleys, and musty cellars we make our homes.
We sleep with rats and run like lions, lurk in darkness, pounce when the time is true, snatching purses from belts with black stilettos, we skip away, snickering in the dark.
Chaos hair, laughing circus, we whisper nameless, coded, hieroglyphic tongues, sharing secrets in squatted corners of What-You-Call-Destroyed.
Listen close and hear the gentle Nothing, the scamper-song of calloused vermin feet, crescendo retreating as the torchlight advances, phantasmagoric vespers escape from dawn.
We hum and whistle these silent symphonies, round fires burning What-You-Throw-Away, we wayward children whose playground is the night, frolicking in the blackest corners and rubble of yesteryear.