Out there
Past the rose garden
Past the wall where the shadows dance
The old hall lies

At the top floor the coffins lie
A hundred sleeping boys
Who never wake
But line up their shoes in a row
Like the good little students they are

And the dead butterfly in its case
Returns to it’s chrysalis
To save itself
From the inferno that lies behind the wall

Black roses, dripping dewdrops
Into the false pond
As the chocolate skinned boy watches
And pricks his finger on a thorn
So his master might drink

But these are but illusions
Old photographs on the ancient desk
Inside the old hall
Where the end of the world lies

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