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The Witness

de False Saints

The candles crying blood
Under the ruined arches,
The moon is lighting-up
The palor of the deads-undead.

Under coffins of glass,
Forgoten wings on cobwebs,
The candles crying blood
Under the ruined arches,

The icons spreading blood.
A coffin is broken,
The walls are suppurating.
A cobweb is empty of wings,

On the white marble,
For killing the irauns,

In a corner,
A cobweb is empty of wings,
The window is open...

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