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 Alone, silent warrior in a fantasy world 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