Inset spire to megalith
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Witchling dreamt and firstly bore
On pourus rock conceived...

These alien things
So green...

Softly fallen autumn rain
Makes a folly of the brake...

In darkest soil
At deadest night...

You think he’s the devil
But he has prayed for you...

The walk
The crowd...

Bathing in the alluring grace
Of the radiant summer sun...

I’m gonna say
And you’re gonna say if you dig it or you...

Stalking midnights murky grove
Along alien shore quick to roam...

In the woods John
At the wash path...

Flee now sweet princes
Turn thine princely coat...