RG Liberty



Cold, eerie tales are terror-torn About a night, grey, dark, forlorn. From out the mouths of simple folk While runic blessings they invoke.

Black winds rush by in wild protest
Bespeaking spirits of long unrest. Sepulchers disgorge their hosts 'Tis Hallowe'en, the Eve of Ghosts.

The silver moon on fear-tossed seas Glares hungry down through grasping trees. The fires are lit, the Rites to weave And prayers to pray this Hallow's Eve.

İRG Liberty
Fall, 1983