In the midst of this ancient graveyard
Through the shades of the cypress trees
A misty pale light now veils the tombstones
And a soft breeze delights the stay
Wooden crosses swollen with moisture
Marble tombs covered in dust
Gloomy faces which stare in silence
Quiet partners for my secret rite
Moonlight rites…
Rustling branches on the wall of the chapel
As the necrophilic excitement burns
Reiterate the desecration
Solipsism is the only way
Yet my soul is devoured by longing
A morbid womb where mysteries grow
Exhalted senses by foetid stenches
Returning quiet before the dawn
And when the day comes back
Bringing throes of light
They’ll be here to pray again
But this graveyard is mine!
“Quocunque adspicias, nihil est nisi mortis imago”