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Chapter Seven
Twilight's chapter seven.December,nighteen-eighty-three in the lane
The typewriter kept shifting to
the next line closer to the truth
The smog from the briar
permeated the withered tree
sobbing silently to me
Right on the circus beside Beck Street,
the Fleur-de-lis was shimmering
Unmanned hansom rattled. The midnight visit
In the Victorian moonlight,
evil had crimsoned the prologue
The vanished pistol. The scorched staff. The molten wax doll.
Who has alibi? The illusion on the treasure chest
oddly led to the cul-de-sac he'd paved
The evidence was buried
The smile mocking at Scotland Yard played on his lips
If evil is the baroque and ruthless movement
Then justice is the deep and helpless pensiveness
Then I'll write down the ending by myself.
Then I'll kindle the dim gleam in the ashes
The day break dried the last line of melancholy
Then the rain will wash out the darkened clerestory
The ink dyed the serenity
As the scarlet curtain fell,the lights were turned off
The truth only lead to the ground without any traces
The wee fragrance was eerie. The queer clothes worn on purpose.
Everyone is lying under the masks of different reasons
There's only a name for their inducements: it's called"lust"
far farther farther far far far farther farther far far
Who can stay clean after
wading through the swamp of humanity?
We can forgive and forget,
but we have to know the truth first
Someone'd moved the iron bed.
The last piece finally completed puzzle
I heard the footfalls of the leather heels I expected
He opened the door. The night breeze swayed the paraffin lamp.
The typewriter stopped at the killer's name, I turned round.
The skies of the Abbey began seething
The flamboyant death bloomed on his bosom.
I savored the last bite of the sweet truth to the full
I recalled with a smile. Justice had been done quiet.
The violin's in the Thames
If evil is the baroque and ruthless movement
footfalls of the leather heels I expected
He opened the door. The night breeze swayed the paraffin lamp.
Then I'll write down the ending by myself.
The typewriter stopped at the killer's name, I turned round.
The skies of the Abbey began seething
The ink dyed the serenity
If evil is the baroque and ruthless movement
Then I'll write down the ending by myself.
The day break dried the last line of melancholy
The ink dyed the serenity
Stormyfeather
nocturne18✕
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Rusia lleva a cabo una guerra vergonzosa contra Ucrania. ¡Defiende a Ucrania!
Cómo apoyar a Ucrania 🇺🇦 ❤️
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