Flywheels and Pixie dust

and he cursed the damned awakening      
because he could almost hear      
the orchestra of bone clad cogs      
starting to turn themselves
 tooth by tooth      
     
and knew too that before long      
they'd be spinning fluent      
constantly whirring  
      
then begged  
for god's honest truth      
to hide itself  
deep down inside his guts      
so his head couldn't wrap a cloak around it      
and smother it's life  
clean gone      
       
for some quasi swan song      
that would feed it full to the brain      
in times where reaching in      
is all that was needed       
to bring a craving back from the grave