Night fell. Thoughts wander.
Fretted heads of lamps
sway shades dissembling outside the window.
Footsteps of passer-by, dissected by the moon,
have died away. O dark, my bliss…
Immovable in this dark-born phantasm,
I feel the argent shades approach. Awaked,
like crazy Aladdin, I take the lamp of midnight dreams
from ancient pictures, and I steal away
into the windy night to fly above the sleepy city.
But Morning threatens always on the sly.
The cry of the new light will overtake,
and silver bullets of the dawn will strike my flight.
The night will leave for crystal of the mirrors
at the eternal dwelling of Parisian Vampire.