Cursed for tearing apart the last pages
before the tolling of the bell

Another poet's raven has made a nest
deep inside the woods of the dead

Why are you afraid of dying
when you do not live either?

I have hidden my soul's sparkle
inside a statue's neckless in the Necropolis

I'm crossing the borders of your mind
wearing a coat made of storm-clouds

Lord of darkness
please be my guide