The hand of night rapped on my door
as usual … heard it before.
Breath, shallow, I chose to ignore
the rake of claws raping the door more.
In a cabin of chance
my faith, by fear, was enhanced.

The Dame of Damned, unholy wife,
pregnant untruths bore, gave them life.
She cut backbones with nails, knives.
She, Damned, makes hate, hearts with doubts, thrive,
dices our souls … we scream;
this nightmare is no dream.

Death, She, Damned, thrust their feet inside—
couldn’t run, there’s no place to hide.
They both leered, grinned, confident, snide
while others do bids, swallow lies.
The rapping hand raps ev’ermore
at ev’ry heart and ev’ry door.

In the light of day, they stand there still—
trying to change us, break our will.
The mistress, Damned, makes pebbles hills,
drives us to drink, depend on pills.
Hoar hounds of Hell prevail
but, seeing faith, they bail.

The hand of night creeps out of sight—
out with sin, fright! Dwell in His light.