Doctor Night
Blast Furnace
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Down the dark sidewalk he moves on bent feet
Treading on faces of people he meets
Screaming at street lamps
Roaring at trains
Weeping down dustbins
Singing down drains.
Crazed by his blindness
Tortured by sight
Waving a toothpick
Poor Doctor Night
Clattering subways reveal his cold eye
Harpies and junkies repeat his deep sigh
Mental defectives know him by name
The sick and the dying are part of his game.
Looking in graveyards
Counting the stones
Listing the flowers
Piling the bones
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Morning approaching night is away
Half woken faces greet the new day
On to the treadmill
Into the race
Kill all the kindness
Scorn every face.
Cover your sins, paint everything white
Still comes the justice of cold Doctor Night!