THE NIGHT OF THE ANIMALS, pure rock n roll

THE NIGHT OF THE ANIMALS, pure rock n roll The clock stopped at the cold tenth stroke, When the wind forgot how it should blow. Beneath the plaster of the ceiling, the twilight watches, And the earth begins, very slowly, to heave. There are no barks in the thick descending fog, Only the creaking of bending joints; Something demands that the flesh of man sicken, While the worms of the earth collect their debts.