When darkness whispers in your ear
Songs of death throughout the years
When you stand among the graves
Of vanished friends and summer days
When it takes you by the hand
And leads you to an ash-scoured land
And gently, with a seductive smile
Hands you a knife, wreathed in its guile
Wraps your fingers around its hilt
Sweetly drains away your guilt
Pause, dear friend, and think on this
Where was it that you went amiss?
I have been lost, I walk alone
Condemned by some veiled Heaven's throne
But I am a living mortal yet
I have refused the gods' coronet
I could claim to rule my death and life
Drive deep the bright and shining knife
But I scorn that Throne and Crown
God can keep his pride -- I am my own.