It's here, soft hissing, Having been suspected elsewhere. Spotted on hikes, and in dimly lit abandonments. If you listen the sustaining tone can spring With the strength of the imagination, Or the stamp of the Moon on the blue background--
If it had a soul it would surely think itself an improvement Upon the dark. Undeserving people will enjoy it, tuning it out eventually While others wait what seems like forever, Their pulses sensitive to the untolling music of it.
See them facing the wall, See them facing the harsh Genuinely believing that everyone must suffer-- And maybe everyone must suffer. But maybe. It could happen, please wait with me.