The bell, it tolls,
Haunting Nightly Screams.
The chapel, it stands,
Alone and Dark.
The tower, it dominates,
Tall but Torn.
The Darkness, it surrounds,
Comforting.
The lane, it withers,
With Trees so Tall.
The gate it creaks,
Rusted and Worn.
The crows, they call,
From Midnight Slumber.
The mist, it hangs,
Embracing the Eves.
The moon, it shines,
Upon its Sinister Realm.
Their stones, they lie,
But Never Die.
Motionless they rest,
Ever Changing... Never moving on.
The crowds gather, Immersed in Black.
Aching, but Bleeding.
The roses lie, red like blood,
Wrecked and Worn.
The beautiful decay, dead, silent,
But Restless.
People come, people go,
But do they know?
The beautiful decay rest, but never sleep,
They just weep.
The bell, it tolls,
Mourning as They Rest In Immortal Slumber.
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Bloodied Lust - August 2002
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