‘No foundation can be up ol chap!’
Pale’s good sense rang out
I feared we were deeper in our trap
deeper in the madness they did flout
‘Yes’ said Shrug, ‘but THIS,
this building does, it hangs
with the scent of a noose kiss’
and his face broke into considerable angst
Our quartet walked on through
the hall of stenched fragrance
looking at the human stew
that ebbed and flowed in the strangest dance
the hall mellowed into a passage
with a ceiling as high
unobserved from the visage
it was on top of the sky
doors covered up rooms
on the high stone walls
and from some came plumes
and faint whispers of spirit calls
a mother sat in one
with a child in her lap
she had no arms to lift her son
he had no eyes with which to map
she tickled him with her toes
as she sat on the cool floor
and he laughed in mirthful throes
and cheerfully asked for more
an old grandmother sat with her beau
and giggled in virgin spirits
not a word or glimpse was sore
as they sipped wine under their berets
we walked on past those great doors
filled with the strange magic of life
scented with goodness and wooden floors
the drop of true life and absence of strife
Songs of harmonies wild
rang out their melody chase
dainty dishes of notes compiled
of groove and crunch and craze
‘Maybe’ sighed Phil Shrug
in softened countenance
‘maybe’ in a defined chug
as he drank life’s ambience
The great stairwell lumbered
into our sights, snaking up.
At the bottom an old man slumbered
with no intention of waking up
The music and laughter were faint now
The air was less fresh and more fraught
fear crossed my once straightened brow
as my nightmare beckoned and called out
‘Are you prepared?’
the voice of goodness asked
one eye of grace cared
for what the frown masked
‘What!… did you see that?’ Pale shouted
‘A creature of much disease and horror!’
My fear took awful shapes while Phil said ‘I doubt it,
you were most likely looking in the mirror!’
‘Shush Phil!’ she said, as the old man stirred
‘Mind the mirth in myriad moments.’
I staired up at the darkness as my horrors conferred
and my brow crumpled in increments
‘Are ye ready gentlemen?!’ yawned a voice,
as the old man rubbed his sleepy eyes
peering at us, we two naughty boys
he smirked, and our chances fell like loaded dice.
‘fear not! Be not trustful of my countenance
but in what I say’ said the old man Zek.
‘My words are strange and cold suns
but quite often simply a pain in the neck!’
He laughed the loud horrible cackle
of sanity’s doom
Joined by Shrug’s raspy tickle
which expanded our gloom
And we stepped up onto the dark slabs
scrawled with writings and images
of people and problems and bats and crabs
of ugly spells and wisdom of sages
‘We step through history!’
shouted the old prophet
and he stepped on without hurry
while Pale muttered ‘the steps don’t fit’
We marched on into the shadows that moved
hearing the whispers of depravity’s soul
and a wail of loss softly grooved
it was going back after parole
The darkness filled and fouled our nostrils
and the wails and whispers grew heavier
great creatures peered at as through grills
living things from horror’s trivia
And a great door shimmered and loomed
As we held our hands led by the resolute Zek
for the wind and scream assured we were doomed
as we reached the foundation of death
Sacred Blue 