The evening is laced with scarlet
Dripping...dripping...dripping
A puddle at my feet.
I laugh, I desire, I pretend
As I weave truth with lies and
Watch them shine.
Crazy eights,
eights eights eights...
I must be death,
For I shiver not
When the shadows pass me by,
Though I am more than overwhelmed
At the thought of someday joining them.