There is a house at the corner,
Asymmetrical and huge.
It inhabits a stranger.
Stranger seems to be in love.
His face is parched,
Can be crushed into powder.
The moon falls on it,
Then goes back into the sky.
The smell of flowers fades.
The garden flows like a river,
With only stones left now.
Stranger comes out,
Comes out for a stroll.
After ages and ages,
On the stones, he rolls.
Stranger knows he is alive,
While the house burns down.
This is the end,
Of the broken days he spent.
He is free of the demon,
And the angels who had fallen.
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