The City Sleeps - Seeming

Stealing down an alley on a cold dark night

I see a halo in the rain around the street light

I stop and look, and listen to the sound

As the raindrops penetrate the silence all around

Alone, I gaze into the glistening street

The distant thunder echoing my heartbeat

Urging me on to a secret goal

Away from the light from this lamp on a pole

So I turn, slip away into the rain

Drifting like a spirit through the shadows in the lane

Clutching the tools of my trade in my hand

An old box of matches and a gasoline can

Darkness envelopes the scene like a shroud

A veil of emptiness hangs from the clouds

Filling up the cracks in this desolate place

Cradled by the night in an icy embrace

I move through the town like a ghost in the rain

A dim reflection in a dark window pane

Blackness beckons from every side

Creeping all around like an incoming tide

A broken window in an empty house

I slip inside and begin to douse

The whole place with the fuel that will feed the fire

And push back the night, taking me higher

On out of the darkness in a deafening roar

The match in my hand is the key to the door

A simple turn of the wrist will suffice

To open a passage to paradise

I pause, I think about the past and the gloom

The smell of gasoline permeates the room

Everyone has a little secret he keeps

I light the fires while the city sleeps

The match makes a graceful arc to the floor

And time stands still as I turn for the door

Which explodes in a fireball and throws me to the street

I hit the ground running with the flames at my feet

Reaching for the night which recoils from the fire

The raindrops hiss like a devilish choir

Dying in the flames with a terrible sound

Calling all the names of the sleepers all around

But then in the arms of the night, they lay

Their dreams, sprout wings, and fly away

Out of the houses in a gathering flock

Swarming overhead as I hurry down the block

I make my escape with the greatest of ease

And safe in the darkness, I drop to my knees

The light in this window, my hand on the latch

I reach in my pocket, and pull out a match

(The majesty and burning of the child’s death

I shall not murder

The mankind of her going with a grave truth

Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath

With any further

Elegy of innocence and youth

Deep with the first dead lies London’s daughter

Robed in the long friends

The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother

Secret by the unmourning water

Of the riding Thames

After the first death, there is no other)