Hearken to the whispers, the sloth of hopelessness,
Pierced by night-dark arrows, embrace the succubus,
Weakened cords are yielding, the half-glimpsed shape is free,
Come ye pale moon's children, rend the blackened veil.
Night-shrouded blackened avatar, Writhing lambent squamous mass,
Clinging supine blackness, This shadow on the mist.

Labyrinthine darkness, viewed through the mist of tears,
Moon-frost upon my tongue, stagnate in chasmed fears,
Snares are laid now for me, with blossoms crushed in heaps,
The voice entwines and crackles in the whistling mane of wind.
Night-shrouded blackened avatar, Writhing lambent squamous mass,
Clinging supine blackness, This shadow on the mist.

The spurn of golden gateways, shackled to dank thoughts,
Adorned in glooming robes, the lord of fevered dreams,
Sibilant whispers ride the wings of plague-born shades,
See the viper in the blossoms, envenomed tapestry of graves.
A shadow on the mist