Braucherei, Braucherei

intoned deep in the rot

he’s a witch, he’s a witch

seek his magic for naught

In the gape of Hex Hollow,

vice devilry grows

it’s a curse, it’s a curse

Nellie Noll told us so

Braucherei, Braucherei

bestrewn ripe in the thick

he’s a saint, he’s a saint

when your children are sick

In the bleak of Hex Hollow,

drear tendrils do climb

up the walls, up the walls

varnished red wit...

Agatha lost, in the attic she moans

at the latticework spindled around her frail bones

weaving up from the floorboards, stale rot seeped below

where you left her decaying, this star of your show

A perfection imperfect, played in the wrong key

dolled up for the image you wish them to see;

worry not, my dear Agatha—beauty prevails!

Fill your heart with the promise of fanciful tales

Being told at ...

Were my love not brazen

as carnival lights at dawn

flickering madly

to a waning calliope,

I’d have tucked it away

in a matchbox,

diffused the flame

and snuffed the sparks—

Left orchestras to rot

in the graves of all

who dared to live

their truth before us

But I do ask and I do tell

when stars tumble from your lips

to mine, the universe shouts

in symphonies resurrected

Conducting our vaudevil...