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Innsmouth girl
She's been living in her Innsmouth world
I bet she's never had unchanged guy        
I bet the Marshes never told her why

I'm gonna try for an Innsmouth girl
She's been living in her black reef world
As long as anyone with fine gills can
And now she's looking for a Arkham man
That's what I am

And then she knows what
He wants from His Sign
And then He'll wake up
And shake up her mind

She'll see I'm not so tough
Just because
I'm in love with an Innsmouth girl
You know I've seen her in her Innsmouth world
She's getting tired of her sea port's noise
And all her trinkets from her Innsmouth boys
She's got a choice

Innsmouth girl
You know I can watch her gills unfurl.
But maybe someday when my ship comes in
She'll understand what kind of guy I've been
And then I'll swim

And when she's changing
She's looking so fine
And when she's swimming
She'll say that it's time

She'll say I'm not so tough
Just because I'm in love
With an Innsmouth girl
She's been living in her black reef world
As long as anyone with fine gills can
And now she's looking for an Arkham man
That's what I am

Innsmouth girl
She's my Innsmouth girl
You know I'm in love
With an Innsmouth girl
I was in a shop that was playing 'Uptown Girl' when my sniggering brain substituted "Uptown" for "Innsmouth" and "downtown" for Arkham. It should have ended there, but the more stupid an idea is, the harder I find it to resist...which explains a lot.

'Uptown Girl' belongs to Billy Joel, you can find the video here: [link]
Although Westlife covered it too: [link]
"Shadow Over Innsmouth" belongs to HP Lovecraft: [link]
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Sing along everyone - this one's rather jolly! (the rhyming scheme at least).


I saw angels dance with devils
under winter's crystal sky.
Old men passed between them,
crying "Dead men never die!"

Then the oceans fell before us,
as the dead began to sing.
Heavens parted wider;
winds prickled at our skin.

Now Satan awakes slowly,
like shadows on the sands.
Together we beg forgiveness,
as he lacerates our hands.

The landscape lies broken,
as stones roll through the hills.
Stars are growing brighter,
fed by blood of untold kills.

Death bends his toxic breath,
exuding nameless streams.
fabricating nightmares
and crimson coloured dreams.
The title is a play on the old nursery rhyme "Sing a Song of Sixpence" which has the line "four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie". The rhyming scheme is kind of similar to it! I'm not sure how that happened...hmm

Anyway the actual "Sing a Song of Sixpence" has been interpreted in lots of different ways. Most of these old nursery rhymes often have more significance than it seems.

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In the nighttime I were glancing,
to the heavens, softly dancing,
where the starlight lay entrancing
thoughts within my mind.

Sirius, I spied in wonder,
the brightest light we live here under;
the Dog Star clad in wildest splendor.

Then there came again to enter,
another thought within my mind.

All the ground below is hiding,
shadow depths so filled with dying.
All those realms so secret sighing;
Hades' hound stirs with his crying:

Cerberus, that beast of thunder,
with three heads to tear asunder
any who might seek to wander
to that starless hidden realm.

Dwelling on these myths, I question'd
if in fable they were lessen'd,
in their act of giving lessons?

For, in truth, there is but this:
a choice betwix two canine myths.
Each journeys as inclines his pith,
to Cerberus or Sirius.

Shall we, our daylight seek to squander,
to succor Cerberus whole lies there under?
Or shall we forsake our fears to clamber;
surmount Sirius, and heavens plunder?  

In which hard task shall we persist?
For death and hope abound like mist.
We seek and find, with hollow fist;
only in the mind do things exist.
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Huckle-hunting crack-backed worms
'neath jeering, leering tangled forms.
Branches breaking, bending, sending
shivers down my mangled spine.

Fine, everything's just fine.
Backward glancing, I see dancing
shadows, shadows that aren't mine.

Time, time ever racing, chasing,
pacing, my footsteps ever hastening;
tasting the seconds as they fade away.

Decay comes quickly, sickly;
stenches, wrenches my groaning gut.
Moaning, roaming through the leaves,
weaves the yearning, burning thing of night.

Sight, I am robbed of sight.
Blinding, something hidden binding,
twining, snaking round my aching useless eyes.

Sighs, the sighs of something very close;
those whispered, blistered wrecks of breath.
Death, the final fleck, silently shivers,
my withered slivered, writhing neck.
Something I wrote last Hallowe'en.
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Barley out in the garden.

He reminds me of a fluffy moth! [link]

I admit I cheated and added a filter to the photo because the original had neon green grass. :D If anybody wants to use this for anything, feel free.
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With silent grace she shines aloft.
Somnolent stars suffuse face soft.
Gossamer drifts of shifting clouds
cast shadows on a pearly brow.

Waves spin tales of sailors' yarns,
hidden swathes of ancient charms.
Seabirds' cries and creaking calls,
waters whipped by singing squalls.

Neptune urged with surging shifts,
destruction of the struggling skiffs.
To straggling rocks the sinking ships,
sleeping sands each sadly slips.
My attempt at capturing the mysterious, mythic, wild and spiritual feel of the sea.

As always, any comments and criticisms are very much welcomed!

Thanks for viewing :)
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"Edward was thirty-eight when he met Asenath Waite. She was, I judge, about twenty-three at the time; and was taking a special course in mediaeval metaphysics at Miskatonic. The daughter of a friend of mine had met her before–in the Hall School at Kingsport–and had been inclined to shun her because of her odd reputation. She was dark, smallish, and very good-looking except for overprotuberant eyes; but something in her expression alienated extremely sensitive people. It was, however, largely her origin and conversation which caused average folk to avoid her."

Extract from HP Lovecraft's 'The Thing on the Doorstep'
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My life had always been painted in sombre greys. In death, how it blossoms!

When the rains come, the watery drops fall like tears of ink: echoing and dancing across sparkling sapphire puddles. The sun, a golden mystic orb, shedding its beauty on all it touches.
I see rustic weather-beaten cragged faces of the old, set with eyes of faded blue. I behold bright smiles and blushes upon the fat cheeks of the young. My ears prickle with the twirling thousand-noted song of birds. The beauty of all these things I never observed in life, now bursts upon my ripened senses - in death.

In a trance I view this new-found paradise. Life, I have come to realise, is most beautiful to the spectator. The spectator has no need for understanding or judgement.

I look upon a derelict dilapidated street, filthy with squalor. I cast my eyes over the crumbling paintwork of rotting window frames, housing broken panes. Here and there sickly weeds break through mouldering masonry.

Oh what a picture, what a spectacle! What art!

Withered creatures scuttle furtively from one festering doorway to another, or limp painfully by with deep frowns creasing their ruined faces.

Do these not serve as fitting embellishments of the picturesque vision?

The scene still stirs my emotions, but now they are disconnected, as if stimulated by a fictitious tale. I see only a backdrop and actors, they exist only for my entertainment. These people have no significance and do not suffer, they only present that aspect so that I might take interest in this intricate scene.

The dead watch the living: detached, separated, segregated. The living prattle along giddily in their little bubble, or wearily toil. To them, I am just another face in the swirling crowd of humanity. To me, they are enchanting little fishes swimming in a beautiful aquarium.

I have been blessed with the capacity to appreciate withered beauties and fresh blooms alike. Recently I have become enamoured and allured by a wondrous thought. I dream of breaking this brittle-glassed world, to witness a new beauty.
As mocking reality was shattered and destruction crashed righteously through their fragile world, how gorgeous would it be? Just imagine all those pitiful fishes lying splintered, gasping - bedecked with shrapnel diamonds and rubies of crimson blood!

Yet I am not malicious. It is not their pain in which I will take pleasure. I have no capacity to relate, no sympathetic feeling. What spurs me onward is the anticipant joy, as of viewing a new painting - a new aesthetic delight!
Can this be understood? Can the living understand the dead? It is of no consequence. I write for myself, for my own enjoyment.

Yet that is not strictly true...if you are that most rare of specimens.
If your mind is surpassingly strong and beautifully magnificent, if your mind is resplendent with art and gorgeous with glory - then it is of great consequence!

She, sacred Angelic Death, shall come some soft starless night. She shall come serving deliverance from the shackles of a beating heart. Encased in a necromantic embrace, within her baptismal arms of gleaming ivory - you shall be honoured at last.

You, like I, shall awaken dead - dead among the living!
The protagonist is dead. He possessed such an exceptionally artistic mind that Angelic Death thought him worthy of the gift of a necromantic embrace, so that he may walk dead among the living, and appreciate the full beauty of the world unconfined by life and morality.

Comments and criticisms are always welcomed.

Many thanks for reading.
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I saw Him rise and He does exist,
came and saved a sinning atheist.
Showed me light when I saw none,
paved the way for the path I'm on.

Now I know what's required of me,
the Lord has come and set me free.
With pen in hand I write this line,
and watch the stars as they realign,

Others laugh and call me names,
they'll soon perish in His flames!
None of them would take a look,
as I opened up the holy Book!

I pray and plead to join the throng,
worshipers that know Your song!
Come take me to the distant place,
insane in the arms of mad embrace!

Oh Great Lord Cthulhu!
This one goes out to all the Cthulhu cultists out there, wishing on a star! lol
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It's a metaphor, probably. :D It's been over three weeks since I last drank black tea...

Various vintage clip art from:
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