[Spirits Of The Dead]



Thy soul shall find itself crying alone



Mid dark thoughts of gray tomb-stone

Not one, of all the crowd

Into the hour of horror be silent in that

Solitude which is not loneliness

For spirits of the dead



Spirits stood in life before you are

In the death around you - their will

their will is overshadowing you

Therefore you must be forever still



The night thought clear shall frown

like wounded devil stars

shall look right down at the graves

From their high thrones replaced in the heaven

With light like hope to mortals given



As burning fever

Which would adhere

To you forever



Every thought will never banish now vision vanish

From thy spirits shall they will pass no more

Like dew from the grass the breethe the breath

Of God is still mist upon the hill



Look how it moves

Between the trees

Riddle's mistries.