In the middle of the night....
That's when the Man comes a calling, He'll come a calling, sure as Hell is a burning, he'll come a calling, Unexpectedly, inconveniently
and without warning,
Suddenly he's there!
Late at night, he'll arrive
To settle his dues with you....
John Henry Horat, When The Man Comes A Calling, A Calling On You!

it seems that the only antidote to the poison of existence is to write. to write, like our forefathers did - purposeful seclusion, months of trance-like writing, like a murderer maddened by the idea of salvation - writing, with ink-stained fingers, aching joints on the same old, trusty typewriter; writing, while wallowing in the deepest pits of despair, stuck inside a shabby room, dishevelled with books unread and re-read countless times...
Debopriyaa Dutta, diabolus ex machina

Kindle fresh flames of sulphur there.
Assemble all ye fiends,
Wait for the dreadful ends
Of impious men, who far excel
All th' inhabitants of hell.

Let 'em come, let 'em come,
To an eternal dreadful doom,
Let 'em come, let 'em come.
Thomas Shadwell, Song of Devils

Chevaliers de Sangreal, Hans Zimmer Live In Prague

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