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Out of what crypt they crawl, I cannot tell, But every night I see rubbery things, Black, borned, and slender, with membranous wings, They come in leigons on the north wind's well With obcscene clutch that titilliates and stings, Snatching me of on monstrous voyagings To grey worlds hidden deep in nightmare's well.

- H.P. Lovecraft