Song of my Dark self, etc.
By
Max Bindi
Song of my Dark self
I have a thousand faces
and only one mask
unearthly common places
no black moon to ask
but one more ghost train to miss
no phantom time to lose
I follow my cursed bliss
like a new monster on the loose
and I am long past caring
what my own demons say
I lost my bearings
in the remains of judgement day
one foot in Hell's door
one foot in the shallow grave
I trudge along this spectral shore
waiting for the last Death wave.
The end
About the Dark Weather
If you seem
what you seem
don't look so grim
when the lights of the world
start to grow dim
If the darkness
unzips its eyes
in a nightmare alley
if the tarot cards lie
and fate dilly dallies
the devil creeps under your skin
when hell seethes under the floor
well, people cry like the wind
and they are no more
Now rise down, baby fall up
and show me
where you found your sleep
and your black clothes
about the dark weather
tell me more.
If you are what you are
don't brag
about your phantom scars
and joyride through the night
in Death's haunted car
every shadow is on the move
and blood crawls under the door
well, people are wind
and they are no more
Now rise down, baby fall up
if your black money lasts
more than your damned soul
about the dark weather
tell me more.
Judgement day
Judgement day comes
loudly trumpeted
yet completely unexpectedly.
Outdoors the dogs bark lugubriously.
Indoors the high priests pray unintelligibly.
Blessed are the fools who are thought wise
till they keep silent
for in the name of doom
not even saints can hold their tongues.
And we endlessly talked about End times
till the four horsemen of the Apocalypse
rode to the four winds
spreading the news
that in the end
only appearances would be judged.
So, all the beauty salons
and mirrors of the world
were taken by storm.
The dead marched in their Sunday best
with black withered roses in their buttonholes
and fresh earthworms in their pockets
whereas the scariest monsters
offered moral support to their victims
growling mea culpa.
Sat upright in their thrones
haughty angels judged unsympathetically
the mannerism and semblance
of millions of creatures
with quick glances
since first impressions
opened the doors of Heaven or Hell.
I too joined the spectral parade
of zombies and ghouls and false prophets
from every walk of life and death.
I saw white ladies throw ironic flowers
from dilapidated balconies
whereas the children of the damned
mocked the scene with false tears.
Then the sky fell like a torn curtain
on that uncanny company
of insane actors and spectators
who sang the de profundis to each other,
and not without the sardonic counterpoint
of the ominous music of the spheres.
Now leave me alone
said finally
the alien loudspeaker in flames
the story is over
Max Bindi is an Italian Multimedia Artist/Poet/Songwriter. His work has been featured in Poetry Anthologies by publishers such as The SFPA, HellBound Books, The Ravens Quoth Press, Rogue Planet Press etc. as well as in a variety of international Literary Magazines both online and in print, including: The Horror Zine, The Sirens Call eZine, Lovecraftiana,, Aphelion, Better Than Starbucks, The Stygian Lepus, View From Atlantis and elsewhere. He was nominated for the Dwarf Stars Award in 2023 and in 2025. Parallely to the intense literay production he is very active as singer songwriter and co-founder of the Altrnative Electronic Music Project "Outpost of Progress".
By
Max Bindi
Song of my Dark self
I have a thousand faces
and only one mask
unearthly common places
no black moon to ask
but one more ghost train to miss
no phantom time to lose
I follow my cursed bliss
like a new monster on the loose
and I am long past caring
what my own demons say
I lost my bearings
in the remains of judgement day
one foot in Hell's door
one foot in the shallow grave
I trudge along this spectral shore
waiting for the last Death wave.
The end
About the Dark Weather
If you seem
what you seem
don't look so grim
when the lights of the world
start to grow dim
If the darkness
unzips its eyes
in a nightmare alley
if the tarot cards lie
and fate dilly dallies
the devil creeps under your skin
when hell seethes under the floor
well, people cry like the wind
and they are no more
Now rise down, baby fall up
and show me
where you found your sleep
and your black clothes
about the dark weather
tell me more.
If you are what you are
don't brag
about your phantom scars
and joyride through the night
in Death's haunted car
every shadow is on the move
and blood crawls under the door
well, people are wind
and they are no more
Now rise down, baby fall up
if your black money lasts
more than your damned soul
about the dark weather
tell me more.
Judgement day
Judgement day comes
loudly trumpeted
yet completely unexpectedly.
Outdoors the dogs bark lugubriously.
Indoors the high priests pray unintelligibly.
Blessed are the fools who are thought wise
till they keep silent
for in the name of doom
not even saints can hold their tongues.
And we endlessly talked about End times
till the four horsemen of the Apocalypse
rode to the four winds
spreading the news
that in the end
only appearances would be judged.
So, all the beauty salons
and mirrors of the world
were taken by storm.
The dead marched in their Sunday best
with black withered roses in their buttonholes
and fresh earthworms in their pockets
whereas the scariest monsters
offered moral support to their victims
growling mea culpa.
Sat upright in their thrones
haughty angels judged unsympathetically
the mannerism and semblance
of millions of creatures
with quick glances
since first impressions
opened the doors of Heaven or Hell.
I too joined the spectral parade
of zombies and ghouls and false prophets
from every walk of life and death.
I saw white ladies throw ironic flowers
from dilapidated balconies
whereas the children of the damned
mocked the scene with false tears.
Then the sky fell like a torn curtain
on that uncanny company
of insane actors and spectators
who sang the de profundis to each other,
and not without the sardonic counterpoint
of the ominous music of the spheres.
Now leave me alone
said finally
the alien loudspeaker in flames
the story is over
Max Bindi is an Italian Multimedia Artist/Poet/Songwriter. His work has been featured in Poetry Anthologies by publishers such as The SFPA, HellBound Books, The Ravens Quoth Press, Rogue Planet Press etc. as well as in a variety of international Literary Magazines both online and in print, including: The Horror Zine, The Sirens Call eZine, Lovecraftiana,, Aphelion, Better Than Starbucks, The Stygian Lepus, View From Atlantis and elsewhere. He was nominated for the Dwarf Stars Award in 2023 and in 2025. Parallely to the intense literay production he is very active as singer songwriter and co-founder of the Altrnative Electronic Music Project "Outpost of Progress".
