The romantic thing to think would be that this comes from a dark place in my soul and portrays some kind of nightmare world. The reality is that this was written immediately after a long round of Alien: Isolation, in which I always end up spending most of my time hiding in a locker listening to the Xenomorph banging around in the vents and panicking at every shadow.
The In-Between is a dark, foul place,
where shadows tear themselves from walls,
and screams come silent, choking, gasping,
oceans boil and caverns roar,
and birds of ash make nests of fire,
as thunder rocks the castle wall,
and cannon rain down from the sky,
an endless, nameless, gaping maw.
Where wealthy men are much reduced
to grovel in the dirt for coin,
while poor men even farther fall,
and in that bitter pain find joy,
for they at least are in-between,
and must soon travel on.
The others do not fare so well,
so wake up, friend. Be gone.