A ghostly fog lay ankle deep between the silent furrows and the underlife
that slithers there is something no one knows.
He could feel his heart was pounding as it leaped within his chest, as through
the corn he stumbled clutching at his breast.
The midnight sky was filled with signs and he saw them as he ran. The moon
was turned to blood and then turned into a man.
The horizon reached up from the land where the corn field met the sky and
snatched the clouds down as it snag a mournful lullaby.
They were plucked out from the eyes of heaven and left the night sky blind,
who hurtles onward Iike a madman lost on the edge of time.
North or South or East or West, it makes no difference now. For hopelessly
he's lost among the furrows of the plow.
The corn field now surrounds him, there is no time to think. He's lost among
the stalks of green in a night as black as ink.
And one by one the stars fell down where they landed on the earth and then
became a gentle stream from where he quenched his thirst.
The moon man came and spoke to him and stirred the water fair. The wind became
a virqin and smoothed his tousled hair.
"My son," the moon spoke softly as the wind drew close to hear, "you are
now a prisoner of your anger, here.
"Anger dooms us all," he said. "but especially it dooms you. You could not
control it's greed, now it's consuming you.
And so it is the awful beast of truth come to devour you. You cannot run,
you cannot hide, theres no one left to save you.
For you forced everyone away but us your friends here in the dark. So we
have come to claim your soul and steal from you your heart.
As Screwtape wrote to Wormwood in his letters strong and dire, "In your failure,
I shall have you now . I will consume all I desire."
So you shall never leave this place, this stream of fallen stars. The moon
man smiled and the wind regaled as they both cried "Now you're ours!"
The gentle stream became a torrent as the wind began to wail. Then the moon
man hemorrhaged all his blood and hissed, "Welcome son, to
hell!"