09-25-2016, 09:03 PM
It Plays with its Food
A shadow of night is coming for you
don’t try to run, don’t start his fun
and don’t show him if you cry
your blood pounds out a rhythmic song
which calls to him and draws him in
soft sound as his foot draws nigh
That phantom of old will find you out
can follow your sigh it's his lullaby
a snuffling shuffling footfall sounds
quick as a thought his hand will clamp
a laugh on your skin, a prick of a pin
now black of night surrounds
A shadow of night is coming for you
don’t try to run, don’t start his fun
and don’t show him if you cry
your blood pounds out a rhythmic song
which calls to him and draws him in
soft sound as his foot draws nigh
That phantom of old will find you out
can follow your sigh it's his lullaby
a snuffling shuffling footfall sounds
quick as a thought his hand will clamp
a laugh on your skin, a prick of a pin
now black of night surrounds
The Soufflé isn’t the soufflé; the soufflé is the recipe. --Clara