There are mausoleums of empty space and stark,
White bones with shallow pools of water
Shifting over stone floors
The echo of footfalls send ripples down the hall,
The crawling, creeping feeling which up my spine follows,
To ask the final question,
Who calls upon the dead?
Dec 8, 2019
Dec 8, 2019 at 12:19 PM UTC
There are mausoleums of empty space and stark,
White bones with shallow pools of water
Shifting over stone floors
The echo of footfalls send ripples down the hall,
The crawling, creeping feeling which up my spine follows,
To ask the final question,
Who calls upon the dead?