Dark times and bleak signs circle in my head
As the devil whispers in my ear while I lie in bed
Coming like the raven at the final bell
To carry my unworthy soul down to cold cold hell

The dead prophets of false messiahs
Whisper eldritch mantras peddling the souls of pariahs
And begging me for my own life
As the new moon glints with impossible light on the edge of the knife

All these decaying archaic arcane ramblings bouncing in my skull
Slicing through my grey matter like knives and leaving me dull,
I come face to face with the dead prophets and the devil they serve,
And then I wake up and hide from my mirror.