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Creaks and groans
Scare my old bones.
Shatters and clatters,
And nothing else matters.

Trickling blackness beams
Or so it seems;

What eerie bleak noises
From dead old machinery
Of winter’s sad choices
In dripping crimson scenery.

Deep down secret cellars
The past will fortune tell us.
So pale moons aligne
And with cold light shine

Into broken-mirrored windows.
Howling nighten’ gale billows,
Poisened tears flowing through
Like shreads of music, too.

Fading butterflies on crumbling walls;
Beware when hollow darkness falls!
Broken flowers in the snow
Where shining blood shall flow.

Maimed love in rotten quarters,
Strangled screams like blazing mortars,
Shattered hopes be cutting knives
Which so destroy our monstrous lives.

Follow death into the cold
And join the leaves within their mold.
Dead eyes look into the gloom;
Your touch shall seal my doom.

Bound by grief and rage
To this withering page;
Listen to the ripping shriek!
On the hill of Crimson Peak.