There's blissful ecstasy at night, a face that looks like rain, watching the nest and perched like a slender vampire on an overpass watching the lazy flood of stars melt into the madness, a bitter immortality and their coppery faces in their glass cages look like palsied owls in a bloodstream of heavy traffic, every time the sky lights up with a bolt of electrifying lightning the little organ of a demon pulses for the first time, the black-engine of hatred and anger of thunder drowns out the tranquility of the camouflaged nook and memory of the burying ground and a heart that is vicious and half-broken.