Out of what crypt they crawl, I cannot tell, But every night I see the rubbery things, Black, horned, and slender with membranous wing, They come in legions on the north wind's swell, With obscene clutch that titilates and stings, Snatching me off on monstrous voyagings To grey worlds hidden deep in nightmare's well.
Over the jagged peaks of Thok they sweep, Heedless of all the cries I try to make, And down the never pits to that foul lake Where the puffed shoggoth splash in doutful sleep, But ho! If only they would make some sound, Or wear a face where faces should be found!
Dashboard
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Active TimezoneUSTZ
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Intel Profile
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