Freedom Chevalier

It crawled toward midnight, outside the Old Bailey in the echo of Sepulchre’s bells The moon wrapped himself in a blanket of clouds the winds screeched a bone-chilling yell I turned up my collar to stave off the night a stranger I walked on alone Feeling the cold, arthritic fingers of death start to ferry me home   The old road stretched on, bloodless and pale in the flare of the snickering moon Baring its moss-covered, black, rotting teeth with gobs of putrid, slick drool Something blurred the horizon, I unsheathed my sword with a clink from its talisman chain A leftover trinket from gods who abandoned mankind on the night of the rain  …