Tristan Robert Lange
À la nuit noire
A vine wraps around
The poisoned fruit
And intoxicates the
One drinking its elixir.
Visions of the dead
Dance like ballerinas
On hollowed ground;
La mascarade de la mort.
The comedy is finished,
The tragedy an art
That betrays the artist\'s
Faux pas extraordinaire.
As time ticks onward,
The clock forms a smile
As the hour tolls in loudly
À la nuit noire.