The Bells

The Bells, the bells, 

Sledging funeral wails, 

Hear, how sorrowful they sing. 

The bells, the bells, 

Oh, sweet Silver Bells, 

Those bells ov Hel that ring. 

Mine lament, from the highest bridge 

A sounding solemn as its swing—

It pales -- it pales, to those foggy ship sails 

Chiming the bell ghost to scream. 

Cranging and panging 

Which madness brought banging 

Ov their sounding song from belfry 

Those bells, those bells, 

Those bells, bells, bells, 

Ringing for the burial of me. 

Their sonorous chime 

Through sobbing they rise 

A pæan sounding to their heightened shriek.

A monody clattered 

Affright with gabled chatter 

Their sobbing flooded waists by their rings. 

Moaning & groaning 

As they knell, knell, knell, 

Nailing in the coffin ov speech.

Through tears & alarum 

As they trail, trail, trail, -- trail-trail..

Echoing on stones of old streets. 

The clangour & bong exhaling deep toll 

A caterwaul of chaos with each heartbeat. 

The bells, the bells, those bells-bells-bells, 

Petrified by the eyes of stone screams. 

Pounding temples cleft 

To the brazen drums of doom 

At the melancholy meaning of their tune. 

Reverberating reactions 

Resounding with passion 

Raining down a dirge ov their gloom.

Yet the ear it fully knows, 

By the twanging and the banging 

How the danger comes and goes 

In their shaking, with their pranging 

Yet, the ear distinctly yells 

In the jangling and the crangling 

How the danger sinks and swells

By the sinking, or the scouring 

In the raging of the bells. 

Oh, cacophonous screams, their sirens blare entails.

In the clamour and the clashing of the bells! 

In cries ov hard chimes 

The houring sands have spilled,

Washing at the banks where one's insanity swells 

Swells, swells, swells, as it —trails, trails, trails,

Resounding the devildriver to move its bell along the hills. 

The towers tolling bleakly through the village and the fields 

A mournful woe of wailing fountain-pooling on their trail.

The quail scale exhaled from the cracking of their shells

Bombs bursting on the battlement: a slicing in the air.

The changing ov four seasons in the golden movement of their will.

A melancholic mope they foretell as they dispel. 

A melodious meeching ov the bells. 

Their mellifluous tocsin of toxins tocking 

Rolling thine head: the knocking, the knocking! 

The floorboards hitting: 

The heartache, the heart aches! 

Swaying grown footsteps, to their foundry, so loudly! 

Sullenly banging to their sounding

--Oh, they're sounding: 

Ov The bells, bells, bells—bells, bells, bells. 

Ringing for the burial of me. 

Resonance! Heard from hollowed halls by ear revenants!

Sheets, harmonious in haunting heightened senses

While striking with bemoaning irreverence.

Yet, the ear it fully chokes 

By the twanging, and the strangling 

How the danger rolls and flows 

With their banging—from their aching 

Yet, the ear is distinctly felled 

By the jangling and the crangling 

How the danger down here swells

By the sinking and the drowning 

By the regency of the bells. . .  

In the clamor and the clangor of the bells.

Through the crashing of their wails 

Spreading misfortunes tell-tale, 

By the rumbling and the fumbling 

Ov the bells--ov the bells.

The merriment of rope ringing by the neck.

Roaring burns rise by the soars of their yell.

Crashing gorgon view upon the highest altitudes

Doling by the volume of their mood. 

Hark! From which this oak gives hanging crashes

While bronzen wheels drive an army clapping 

Resounding irons waving proudly 

As final notes, close lips with brass. 

The bells, the bells, their ringing from Hell, 

Must shake the gravedigger from sleep. 

The bells, the bells, jingling their spell, 

Stealing slumber under old Linden tree. 

Wailing too, the ground speaks.

Through the earthen roots bosom, 

A silver-sounding. 

Ov the bells, bells, bells, O' obesquey wails

Ringing at a Funeral for Me.