From the wind of the thousand restless souls,

Screams and agony of ages is building in our hearts,

Seeded inside like fiery life eating owls,

Sting the hope of human kind, like darts.

Animated in our minds, they play with our thoughts,

They are those, whom we do not see but always know they are there,

Besieging us always in dozens in hundreds in cohorts,

Open your eyes and try to see them as they glare.

They have no tombs, for they are those that never truly died,

The forsaken of human kind, the souls without hope,

The Godless, inhuman and twisted by the image of what they defied,

Hiding like the animals that they are, hating what they become, they elope.

Old and husky, they lure everyone in their traps, and consume them,

Sleepers of hundreds of years, attracted to us by our futility,

Weak and empty, they have no one but themselves to condemn,

They are thieves of something invaluable, the lives that they take so swiftly.