Staring 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, vain dreams that passed   Splinters of a life rushing by in the whirl   A lone silent warrior in a fantasy world      He cried for night but night could not come   So swept in the shroud of misanthrope, 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 at the carving on the monument telling 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