Moonlight thin as a sigh filled the eyes of Alabaster white on bone, his eyes gleamed like a knife, his lips moved; I swear they did.

Alabaster stood in silent light, carven face pale as the misted moon shining o’er the white’d moor.
In Valencia, I said, I kneel at the hidden shrine.
Moonlight thin as a sigh filled the eyes of Alabaster white on bone, his eyes gleamed like a knife, his lips moved; I swear they did.
The frosted moon glowed like a lamp, the ambience hushed and still; his lips moved, I swear they did.
I prayed then to the rosy god of the empty road leading o’er the white’d moor. A sudden bell tolled the hour though I know not where. Carven Alabaster made flesh, his lips moved, I swear they did.
In the hush of the empty white’d heath Alabaster said, “You made of me a mystery and a secret, you whisper my name in the gloom. I am not a mystery.” Alabaster said, “I am not a secret in your soul. Lift me up” Alabaster cried, “and prayer me home.”
Alabaster made flesh echoed, “Prayer me home.” His lips moved, I swear they did.
Alabaster stood cold, hard and white in the haunted sepulchral night.
His lips moved I swear they did, his voice rang like a bell in the tomb.