Mid dark thoughts of gray tomb-stone Not one, of all the crowd Into the hour of horror be silent in that Solitude which is not loneliness For spirits of the dead
Spirits stood in life before you are In the death around you - their will their will is overshadowing you Therefore you must be forever still
The night thought clear shall frown like wounded devil stars shall look right down at the graves From their high thrones replaced in the heaven With light like hope to mortals given
As burning fever Which would adhere To you forever
Every thought will never banish now vision vanish From thy spirits shall they will pass no more Like dew from the grass the breethe the breath Of God is still mist upon the hill
Look how it moves Between the trees Riddle`s mistries.
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