Night's mad song comes howling--
Piercing through the pains of sleep.
A tangled mess of yawps, and scowling,
As though t'was cast from pyre's heap.

The O'verture, this mass allusion;
Etched upon this wretch is still.
Fot it far exceeds this minds delusions --
Brought on not, by tastes of swill.

What deity casts such sounds as this? -
Such ghoulish mimicry, scarce is heard!.
A souls last breath, risen up with fists
--Breaking through the soil curd.

Seraphims laughther; wasted breaths
Encumbered by the dew, and rot
Marrowed bone, and sinew zest;
Meagre food for souls forgot.