Skylight skulkers, with bills as sharp as razors
Keepers for the reaper and carrion grazers
Yclept Murder, they will tap the glass
Lamentable creatures, his own black mass
In times of penury he'll take souls for tithe
Given in nightmares of the glistening scythe
High above, watching, on the portals frame
The ebony eyes await his devilish claim
Midnight passes to naught o'clock
Under the skylight, within, there's a turning lock
Raucous cawing curtails with his arrival
Darkness forms to claim a new disciple
Eldritch presence taints a soul to steel a heart
Raptured; the skylight murder, in silence, hark
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