Lashing down as the waking nightmare flickers,
drenched in the middle of a fairy tale,
presided over by giant candles.
The chill rolls in to us from the north,
a carriage jerking along an abandoned road
lost in the woods and sliding.
Harder, colder now to wash away the plague,
the rats are on the ship and heading this way,
only the cockerel and she can stop them.
The towers look haunted at this time of night,
maybe they are real and biding their time,
ready to decimate these fantasies.