What is that?
What do you hear?
You look as if
You've seen a ghost.

Let them speak to you;
All their tormented souls
Wish is for a living heart
To become one with theirs.

The plague of sorrow racks
These doleful townsmen,
As they wander vacant streets
With hunched shoulders.

He is crying for his mother;
Can you feel his tears?
You cannot, for you—you—
You are like all the others.

Please, be their guest,
And let them creep beneath your skin.
They mean you immortal joy,
And no harm shall haunt you.

No harm shall haunt you,
But they shall instead,
Their stoicism patient as they
Wait for you to crumble.

He is crying for his mother,
Why can't you feel his pain?
Do you want to be damned
As he is damned?

They say the darkness is safe,
But here it bathes in nightmares.
Here, every moment is a cross
For vagrants like you to bear.

The gravestones loom as they
Play their ghoulish tones.
Their static grinds your bones
And orchestra strops to end.

He is crying for his mother,
You cannot feel his rage.
It is prowling closer now,
For you to touch its spirit.

You believed you could save them.
They are all like you, for
They all believed the same.
But credence brought their genuflect.

They praise the Lords of this
This troubled

It's too bad; we thought you'd
Be different.
But you are the same.
You are all the same.

He is crying for his mother,
Can you hear him now?
Tomorrow is untimely
But today

Today is too late.

He is crying for his mother;
Tell me, why are you so white?
You seem like you've just seen

A ghost.