"Voices carry here, my boy

They drift from open fields

Can get caught under the eaves

Sometimes, they settle in the attic

In the creaking of the joists

In the rot of old wood

And whisper things…

Things long forgotten-

 

Things best forgotten!

 

Don't listen t' them, boy

They ain't for hearin'!

Just let them bleed

Let them seep 

Let the grieving 

wail & weep

Does no good interferin', boy

Let the dead be dead

And cold breath fade

Let them settle into shadow

And shuffle into shade

'Cos they lie through cold lips 

Instead of in their graves!

Where I, surely, put them

t' be my eternal slaves!

 

But…

 

How come I'm here, boy!

Without skin, flesh, or sinew!

It cannot be 

by the very knife

that I know 

t' have stuck in you!

 

How come the stale wind

brought me here?

T' be a wretched whisper!

I'll raise the hairs upon your nape

I'll be your weeping blister!

I'll be the air t' tingle skin

The ice t' frost your breath 

I'll be the ditty in your head

A lyrical ode to death!

So, come on, boy!

Come on!

You thought you had me gone

But, forever, we shall intertwine 

And sing this grand old song!

 

"Oh! 

We'll sing this song

Of old refine 

And for eternity 

Your ears shall dine

Upon the feast 

Of my done deeds

And there I'll sow

My darkest seeds

 

"Oh! 

We'll sing this song

Of old refine 

And for eternity 

Your ears shall dine

Upon the feast …

 

"Oh! 

We'll sing this song…