Voodoo chants, the mind recants, the fridge is full of cats, the letterbox is posted, with a parcel full of rats. The light withdraws, the mind ignores the rodents that attract, the mail within the dead of night in dreams that we react. The moon in flight, upon the sight, in endless skies above, in paths of pure direction that is held upon a glove. The silver moon upon the loom the birds will fail to fly, upon the visions high above they fall out from the sky. The ghosts reclaim, the eyes of name, upon the past in sight, in spirit the occult defined upon a ghastly night.