Hospice Gates - Lower Dens

On the hill adorned in dew,

I miss seeing you through your den of verse.

In the clinic stall they’ve confined me to.

Loose the noose I wear and I’ll run away with you.

All riled,

Night’s young,

I lunge,

Gutted on hospice gates.

Into these rooms,

Your bawdy verses boom.

«If you don’t know me now,

You’ll know me soon.»

All riled,

Night’s young,

I lunge,

Gutted on hospice gates