The Cult of the Bells

I originally wrote this in early 2001, I had been reading a great deal of Edgar Allen Poe at the time, which is reflected in the dark tone of the piece. It's also reflected in the fact that I became enthralled by the word tintinnare. It had actually won a contest in my high school for their old literary magazine, Pen & Ink. Enjoy --

You hear the lovely tintinnare
The ring-a-ling flows through the air
They seem to sing and call you there
The flowing ring of tintinnare.

As you enter, people stare
This house the source of tintinnare
This lovely ring has drawn you there
To this temple of despair.

You witness all the cretins bare
Their heads all black with raven's hair
With bells they hoped to lure you there
Seduce your soul with tinitinnare.

Now you're brought within the lair
Become a member of despair,
You are dragged back by your hair
Taken in by tintinnare.

The ring-a-ling flows through the air
The sounds they sing within the lair
Your beaten, bruised and bloodied there
Your ligaments begin to tear
The people kill you without care
Behind them, sounds of tintinnare.
Maybe draw another there
Another victim for this lair
And the song of tintinnare.