The hounds howl at night. Bleating cries. The moon dances in circles overhead. So the hounds lift their heads to cry aloud. I cover my ears and hope that they cease. The edges of sanity inside my head. What a spectacle, a moon so blood red. My frenzied cry. And the hounds' quiet sigh. A simpering sight in the dead of night. A quiet murmur, a planetary dance, a momentary peace. That quiet murmur, that planetary dance, that momentary peace. Now the hounds, they grow loud, once again. So be it.