I wander the corridors of my mind
Searching for an unlocked door
Sounds of old clocks and woodworm
Ticking inside my head
Creaking floorboards awaken old ghosts
Of Victorian women and their suicidal lovers…
This mansion once of joy
Now a harbinger of sorrow
Stale wedding cake collected by rats
That scurry into the darkness
I live in this parallel universe
No escape, a living corpse of sadness…
Yet jolly is my mission
For I know not what I seek
Maybe a log fire?
The smell of a leather armchair
A portrait, landscape, an abstract dream
Or even a home…
The smell of port and cigars
Fat red faced men
Laughing, dancing with the fan waving Ladies
Who shriek in hope
The Count is here!
The Count is here!
Indeed, Dracula himself arriving
His wolfhound menacing, snarling
The Count Oh! So elegant, so handsome
Wanting to imbibe on the blood
Of the pretty young maidens
Who offer themselves freely
To live forever
As creatures of the night…
Preying on men’s souls
Enslaving the lonely
I see it all
Evil dressed up as majesty
Enticing with kindness
Drawing in with a light
Which is counterfeit…
But they all know
I must leave
Before the party can begin
For flawed though as I am
I walk in Truth
The Angel of Death
My constant companion….
Urban Dandy 
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