1Where the lost souls come to play
Spilling forth fragments of whispers
Obscurities maskéd by day
It's quiet in my deadly garden
Or so it seems to others' ears
Listen closely to the breathing
To the seething nightly fears
Weed choked longing murmurs softly
Grasping tendrils never tire
For in the essence of their being
They hunger on for your soul's fire
Don't step in the ring of toadstools
Avoid their beckons if you can
Although they sing with voices haunting
You may not like my fairy land
Even here the stone is speaking
The fallen angels of decay
Their faces of white stone are weeping
Torn silver wings and tears of pain
The twisting limbs hold memories
A carven face with bloodied eyes
The heart tree knows all that has passed
An ode to wraiths long lost in time