Song of the Vulture

For when the wretched taketh of the light,

Betwixt the shadow of the dawn and eve,

Purgatory's minions ascend of night,

Bequeathing turgid vengeance, take their leave;

Thy will shall be as nothing before them,

Dost thou knowest thou art damned by thy deeds?

Blackest flower in plagued death does stem,

Care not but for their own treacherous needs.

Thou runneth to thy secret cold alcoves,

As the dark ones follow, supping the dark,

The vulture dines of sweet innocent doves,

Devours the sweet songs of the morning lark;

Thou can'st kneel and say thy prayers this day,

Servants of the Beast shall take thee away.