Fervently burning under a silken sky
weary souls become forgotten ghosts
wrought by the echoes of a dying sunset
belonging nevermore to a mortal world

where demons writhe behind invisible doors
licking the floors, dreaming of gore
from twisted tongues, their words whip
not spoken or whispered but weak and murmured

lo! a name is painted, in the shades of dusk
in purple and ebony, unreadable - Lenore
she who fancies nights within cold chambers
stoking hearts of men as though they were embers

writing volumes of sins they confess,
and every treacherous lie they profess
turned the sky bleak today
all the ghosts have gone away.