|
Still, so still in the city tonight, twelve o’clock, tick-tock, when all that is good slinks away like a beaten dog and the black black shadows are alive with the dead, twisted poetry in broken English, flesh and blood and staring faces… So grey and despairing, strong as steel but collapsed inside, The Crow laughs under a street light, a voodoo smile of one who lived and died and yet still lives… He makes his way home where he can be shapeless in the dark and paint his face in the colours of joy… Tonight, hell sends an angel bearing gifts… |