Deep into the depths,
of dark defeat I tread so lightly.

Still my head is filled
with heated dread,
all I know what to do,
is bow my weary head.

These souls in which I cray,
lost to this dreary soulless mind
aw and dear old time,
passes like sands of drought
soon we will do without.

Drying up like a muddy river bed,
cracking and peeling away.

Its all in Death’s sway,
doomed are we,
these souls lost their way,
visitors come to pay a visit to their graves.

Mourners come this way,
kneel and pray
for the forgotten souls of droughted time.