DEAD ROOMS

nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson)

A thousand violins
Beset of angels wings
No starry night.
Nor Winters fall
In dead rooms.
Spirits call.

The tainted hands
Of artists crimes
Weep madly to the hour
For each has sold
In anger bold
A dead eye to the tower.

At Heavens gate
A cursed fate
Where wild women 
Seek to shower
In magic dust
Or phantoms lust
The old clock chimes
The hour.

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