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Disma
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Lost In The Burial Fog
Snow covers, the ground
In an ancient cemetery, long forgotten
Evil growling, from the deep
In obscurity, everlasting
Peering over, a snowbathed crypt
A procession, of dark cloaked figures
Carrying a large casket, to an open grave
No salvation for the dead
As they inter the remains
Moving closer, past ancient tombs and old stones
My frozen hands are, growing pale,
My clothes, falling with dust
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Skin is tightening against my bones,
As horror takes me over
Peering downwards into the cold,
A call from my own grave
Ancient words are uttered
To disappear, within the mist
The spell of death, everlasting
Slowly, consumed, in the fog...
Lost, in the fog
Lost, in the burial, fog...
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