songs made of whispers silent screams like a choral of the dead needles

prick the softest skin and the breeze screams bloodlust these eyes gazing

over the hilltops burning red the night skies seem to follow me blanketing

me with crowds of grey and black the crowd of the damned screams eyes shown

red raise the dead the breeze screaming over the whispers in the dark

setting the leaves in sway hanging there like a body from the raftors

smiling back at me they wait in eager circles for me to stagger into the

darkness these images that i have seen they still burn inside of me