Lightning hits the house of wax. Poets spill out on the street. To set alight the incomplete. Remainders of the future. Hidden in the yard. Hidden in the yard.. Thunder drowns the trumpets blast. Poets scatter through the night. But they can only dream of flight. Away from their confusion. Hidden in the yard. Undemeath the wall. Buried deep below a thousand layers lay. The answer to it all. Lightning hits the house of wax. Woman scream and run around. To dance upon the battleground. Like wild demented horses. Hidden in the yard. Undemeath the wall. Buried deep below a thousand layers lay. The answer to it all