Which of my people spoke of the lonely forest For I the poet too feel empty and cold like a grave I believe we mourn our dead like death is evil But they fear strange unknown darkness
Some howl silent melancholy thunder from soul pain Always between alone, lost, or confusion Face this earth alone and walk by light young spirit Echo nevermore with every dark gray storm
No man shrouds his heart come crypt You are who was there unseen as skin is made though it is bone Shudder shiver cry be as pale dread Scream bitter truth whisper about a broken imagination
White raven how he did hide in cover of a black shadow Through dusk and fly at dawn He leaves in my crepuscular half dream I see him here more often now so fill my mystery midnight