Dead leaves of days gone by—now fly:
White with haste, ghouls fly high;
Amongst old aisles, where footsteps once fell
Now tombs and tales and lurking madmen hail:
Here is where H.P. Lovecraft once walked,
And talked—and wrote gloomy tales…!
It is he, who howls now like a ghoul,
In the nights—white with haste; he
Who no longer can see the light!
His wings [...]