they lied

Demons hide.
Imagined dragons,
Their fire falls,
Lick-lashing at the stride
Of repositioned pegs,
At the purposed legs of all our dolls,
Vaporizing the dregs
Of our stilted pride.
Circle the wagons:
The wildfire burns,
The clock-tower churns;
Where would we ride,
But to the song of squalls?
Ride through, we will.
That very wall calls
Us into its crack,
Beneath banshee-shrill;
We won’t look back.
And, on their breath,
We were gone before they tried
To catch us, afraid of death—
They lack the vigor of life
That awakened us.