The Melancholy of the BeastsI am riding the midnight thunder train,Hearing the mournful muse of the forest's fires,Over the pitter-patter of the rain.And sense the presence of silent fliers.I admire the dark of the night sky, starlit,Face contorted in disgust at the scent of banded perfume,My treasure was stolen by the masked bandits,and the big-eyed assassin's of the night keep asking me "who?".I follow the tip-toeing elegant and stumbling naive.Over the the whisperer whose lies are laced,Disturbed by lilliputians who aim to deceive,The flame returns briefly, two-faced.I hear the familiar churr of the wood worker,The mellifluous bellow of he much bigger
I like the one I did for Chase way better, though.