Men go to work, demons go to work, saints go to work, even the monster must work. Steel wheels rolling the throne not dead, mangled silence like slate is shed. Thump and thump upon mans mind, is it the burning of the eyes behind? The demons tonic begins his right, a summoning done in red fall light. What are the reasons, the plans of the great? Are they blind motor functions to put food on the plate? A bitter day and blissful eve, an earth spins burning turns down the sleeve. Slumber’s strange of that there’s truth, do you toss or turn in the dead of your booth? Some sleep sound that much is true, is it simple mathematics of bodies of two? Or is a deeper of sleepers, born of a heart, a mind, a hand, a body, or soul apart?
Bombastic thumping, the heart wound in a thread, the world on a kilter a balance of dread.
Down come the curtains, down comes his head, the monster nudges it’s doppelganger dead.
It’s a shell, it’s a signpost, please heed its call,
Soon The Great Monster Shall Swallow us all.