Under the brow that speaks his name there amidst;
Soundedly spoke and found only his voice a vapour proud,
That his eyes dance to the rhythm of rain and thunder,
Attempts at their origin upwards stare through the night,
Upon the darkness lift and towards the moon doth obey,
Groomed himself in light only by task profound in his wait,
That endless rose in the cup of wine that burns his heart yet,
Which further grooms the decaying heart from whence the rose lay,
Brought himself asunder towards the darkness from which it gazed;
Aboding its solemn sight and heavenly eyes his figure beheld,
That walks through ever so slowly as ghostly as the night’s passing;
Alas, for no company here and no laughter nor smile ere found,
Sought himself for none as none the face but the cap he wears,
And of the cap he wears the mask that be and the shouldered weight;
Pity, and pity; frail for no darkness that no light can never reveal;
For he indemnified himself the lonely figure of the night stood,
Creases his long trench coat that as cloaked as he in darkness bade,
Looks neither right nor left but only upwards the only light blinds,
Almost drifting, and soon departs at his behest for what his car remains,
Yet yelling, that by this only streetlight still lit appears a lady:
In her ruptured face that the rain heavily descends on her no chance reprieve,
Swiftly enters his domain and in her once charming beauty wet and smushed,
That in his sight towards her saw none but the woman once she was,
That in her sight towards him saw none but the face for which he lacks.
Into gear his car begins,
Towards the open road thus it stirs and follows,
Thus they ride with no word ere spoken,
For it ought be flooded, but no emotion vanquished;
Into the darkness that consumes them;
At her Faceless love does she obey.