it was a brittle broken bell
it was some bold and boiling blood

the gaunt grey-suited man thumps his chest three thunderous times
three times in time with the brittle bell’s insistent chime
the third times the third time he beats his chest so hard
that he transcends the trap of time to talk with angels from afar

they carry broken brittle bells
they feed on boiling bold sweet blood
they feed on lost grey-suited men
they carry fury forged in hell

the brittle broken bell cried once more upon the altar
cried three tears for understanding
then three more for crimes withstanding
and then and only then did its tinny telling falter

he was a gaunt grey-suited man
he was ahead of everyone