We are creatures born from fog,
each of us emerging from musty pasts,
doing our best to hide them,
and breathe in mystery,
and breathe out sin.
We make our way through smoke,
never asking what our path is,
but floating in a daze,
to a destination unknown.
There is no light at the end of this tunnel,
there is no clean air.
Our souls have become shadows;
you can see them lurking
from behind symbols of misery.
We are the people of darkness,
we are the ones you fear,
we steal dreams
and bring about nightmares.
We share our home with death itself,
in its purest form.