When darkness has fallen and yards echo black I pass through the monastery gates in the tracks of grim secrets so ancient and preciously kept this night shall breathe life to this sanctum of death

with every step of the way I feel my heart pound faster, could it be true? the unholy transcriptions preaching of the dead again walking the Earth kneeling before the graves of old, the grimoire revealed from 'neath the cloak I cite the words forbidden and feel how something now stirs the dirt

six feet under never seemed so shallow the ominous spell now corrupting all hallows a thousand wretched arms penetrating the soil turmoil complete, horror of the bereaved

"Wise men told him his simple fancies were inane and childish, and even more absurd because their actors persist in fancying them full of meaning and purpose as the blind cosmos grinds aimlessly on from nothing to something and from something back to nothing again, neither heeding nor knowing the wishes or existence of the minds that flicker for a second now and then in the darkness."