The Life of Death
©2009 Tim Marquitz



Dissident choirs sound the tone
A voice of sorrow o'er fields of stone
Where grim and tenebrous souls do lay
The necromancer's morbid will holds sway

And 'neath the waxen moon, spells and cants
The words cast out in alluring chants
While tattered flesh and creaking bone
Stir in the grave and rise with a moan

To crawl from the dark, sad earthen tomb
Cast off the fetters of the abysmal womb
And return to the surface, with fury blood red
Like flowers of grief, the blooms of the dead

Born unto death and given the chance
Like puppets on strings, once more to dance
They rally en masse to heed of his call
To usher the end, conducting the fall

Of all that is light, of hopes and of dreams
They fill up the night with terror and screams
And hunt down the living, no more do they grieve
For the dead have been risen, on All Hallow's Eve