There is no light in the yard,
but there´s been a change in the weather.
Silently, old walls strive towards the ether.
The restless souls, the wardens,
they come and they creep,
striving to rob my own kind of their sleep.
I am driven, drifting, directed astray,
by the ghouls, the gnomes,
those who vanish by day.
Until the bleak morning breaks
I am condemned to abide
in my head, the haunted house,
where the phantasm reigns.
Octobers
