The hour of many lores has descended;
Like a damsel who knows she's in distress
And takes advantage of it.

She plagues me with my insecurities,
She whispers every memory I keep under lock and key,
She controls the traitor that is my mind.

Why must it be that
When the witching hour strikes,
Do the absurd notions take seed?

•

maits⁶¹.

•