I cry for help, but I'm alone
As fearful creatures round me creep
And chilling winds cut to my bone,
I try to waken from my sleep.
I'm haunted by these morbid dreams
Where lost souls wander in despair,
All crying out with voiceless screams
As they exist in endless fear.
Surrounded by the living dead,
I can't escape their mournful groans
And though I try to run, instead
I stumble over tombs of stone.
I fall before a grave and cry,
The headstone showing me the truth;
'A wicked soul herein doth lie,
'Tis good he died while still a youth...'
And as I read the epitaph,
My soul I know is Satan's claim;
I hear a ghostly, mocking laugh
and etched in stone, I see my name.