In droves, they flock to the shadows of the canopy
Just as one stops, another begins to cry
The mist, like fog, so dense. Occult
Man is forbidden here, for to disturb the vapours
Would poison the mind
So all that abide are dead still
These last few days
As the shadows this evening
Lenghten and pinpoint the last of the light...
And the sound of the knives
Counterpoints the sobbing and moaning
The blood looks so dark