All's Sans Daylight on the Exterminationist Frontier


O’er Eyre Doth Gallus Speak
What uncouth barbarians yet tremble to behold.
Sucheth destroyers art thou crones and maidens
Of wistful gentlemen’s designs.
For man that dos’t regard the spectre of dreams mirror
As bodied o’er reason and intellect entwined
Is troubled not by that his dreams bespoilt.
Horror great and witness’d as murder
Missives which dispel what vision he holdeth in highest regard
What regard
His desire having let to rule
Without a matter to human flames
Which spectre dos’t extinguish.