In my tower dark and wet, I am playing Spanish roulette, and the table is laid for three, my two shadows and me. From the fireplace down the hall comes a mighty clarion call, and my twilight community is descending on me.
There are many voices in the night that may pass by, singing me a violent lullaby.
In the closet of my mind hides a dusty nursery rhyme, but all cradles evaporate when I rock them in a hurry.
And the jealous wind is blowing by my door tonight, whispering a violent lullaby.
There are many voices in the night again my child. I will sing that violent lullaby.