Beware the shadow by the corner dark,
For there he waits for seven reasons sour,
His wicked tongue hath limitless remark,
Whilst therein seeking whom he may devour.

Be sober and be vigilant thy kin,
Thy adversary waits beneath the pyre,
Then walks about as proud as the lion,
To drag thy wayward souls towards the fire.

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Oh streets, your weeping cobbles shine
Against the moonlight, wailing sirens
Beckon those that have succumb
To fill your guttered lines with souls.
Blistered, bloated, wandering lost
Through invalid eyes – flies feast
On stale skin, as deep within
The eruptions pulse to a deathly drum.
One by one they fall in line
Upon swarming sewer drains,
Stacked, like broken branches cau...

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