I'm walking through a hall and all is dark,
The night's cloaking me-my candle's but a spark.
All my years I've wasted in this cursed abode,
And I know that I dream of a grey winged ghost.
In my reading attic the bookshelves turn to dust,
My home portrayed rainy, my day gone at dusk.
I feel the draft of deaths chill in my bones,
The ghost in my dreams has invaded my home.
He calls me a demon, a twisted satyr and wraith,
He tells me I'm nothing, a soul wanting grace.
I wonder who calls me, does he follow me now?
The ghost in my dreams must now be around.
In youth at night I'd wake yelling from my sleep,
And in darkness loose my voice, but try to speak.
I soon wake in the dark and catch my breath,
And hope to never return to that bed.
I wish I had my warm parents to light my way
To scare off this spirit who's wings are so grey.
Now I leave this attic with it's books so decayed,
Then the ghost in my dreams is gone and it's day.