Hello Orange, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a Kindred softly creeping
killed my ghouls while I was sleeping
And the blood that was running in their veins
Still remains
Within the discipline of silence

In on his patrol Jim walked alone
Narrow paths of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of my porch lamp
He had orders to kill any vamp
When his side were stabbed by the flash of a poisoned knife
That stopped his life
And touched by the discipline of silence

And on the surveillence tape I saw
A dozen Assamites, maybe more
Kindred talking without speaking
Kindred hearing without listening
Ghouls making pleas in screams they couldn't share
And no one dared
Disturb the discipline of silence

"Fools", said I, "You do not know
Kindred wards on my door glow
Touch my wards that they might burn you
Take his blood that it might hurt you"
But my wards, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence

And my ghoul's blood spilled and sprayed on the rug a Torry made
And the Kindred tugged at its lining
In the words that it was signing
And the signs said, "The words of the prophets are written in the Book of Nod.
Sleep in sod"
And took my rug with the discipline of silence

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