Tristan Robert Lange

Dans la mort de la nuit

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

Dans la mort de la nuit.