A spectral mist
begins to creep
Oh to lay here,
then to sleep!
There's something in this fog,
a spell?
that bids us here
to rest, to dwell
Resist its pull
we must be gone
Flee the darkness,
then on 'til dawn
For we would rid
ourselves of those
who to and from
upon the breeze
flit wrath-like
and are but memories
of deeds we'd sooner put behind
A serpent slithers
through the stones
and digging deep
he stirs the bones
He weaves a mist
and up they rise
while down we fall