Evening And Grief And Lamp Light Bury Our Death-Face. We Sit At The Window And Drop Out Of It, Far Off Day Still Squints At A Gray House. We Scarcely Touch Our Life... And The World Is A Morphine Dream... Blinded By Clouds The Sky Sinks. The Garden Expires In Dark Wind - The Watchmen Enter, Lift Us Up Into Bed, Inject Us With Poison, Kill The Lamp. Curtains Hang In Front Of The Night... They Disappear Gently And Slowly - Some Groan, But No One Speaks, Our Buried Face Sleeps.