different faces
same places
laughing and howling
civil natives
showing the shine
of the cursed gold
painted in the dark
beneath the bark of
the tree crooked and old
where the skeleton remains
in bones and a tounge
whispering the night
for the old and young
them lords and 'em ghosts
those chains that bind
breathing the ashes
of the dead left behind
in that cold empty corner
behind the pines and far
through the dusky road
at this lonely hour
There i sit,
there i hear
dark and gloom
loud and clear