Through the planks of the attic roots grope and tangle
An ode echoes into the halls
Down in the lower corridors of creaking wind
Where the paint is chipped and the lamp shades erode
The equipment for emancipation is rusting
The catacomb echoes carnival laughs
Of a thousand black bagged eyes
And the spirits spiral in on themselves and eat the future
With the past in mind
The radiator clanks like the sharpening of a blade
A bone cold seeps through the window crack
And dim lights from the city stare
A million lonely hungry souls, casting shadows
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