In spirit of the haunted mansion in the air of change, the atmosphere is broken and the feelings very strange. Upon a cloud of tension and upon a cloud of kind, our dreams concede invention that is turned about the mind. Beneath the storm winds from the south, and west of our desires, the north-east oceans will proceed the south-east seas they’re sired. Upon the ghosts of gales that freeze upon the air they boast; our senses fill the void of leaves upon the trees they host. Upon the time in question in the hours that remain, the seconds will be tested as the moments entertained. Within the glass the sands consume the empty vessels stand, contained upon the sands that fill the measure they demand. Beneath the moon, the wolves will cry in vain to see beyond, the howling sense before the stars in worlds that they have longed. Upon the watchman’s steed and wind upon his pale soul, upon the breeze that blows within the dawn that we behold. Upon a dream, inside a stream, the current trickles past, beneath the bridge the waters pass beyond the ripples cast.