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What happens to the soul that refuses to die?

Which grasps with white knuckles to its forlorn life?

Thrusts itself from the pitiful grave,

A soul to keep, yet no heart to save?

Killed in cold blood, vitae to the wind,

Deep in its essence, where Malice begins

Hatred

A Constant pit

In the Onyx Void

Worthless, Loveless

A Broken Toy

The moon eclipses its first Rising

Hidden in the shadows, time, biding

A wraith in this realm, never expected

Always awaiting the return to your bedspread

The lights go out, the candle flickers

Dancing Ebony, Harsh Whispers

A chill in the air seeps to your bones,

Your heart, it stutters, your blood, runs cold

A shadow, first wispy, now opaque

Grasping tightly to the reins of your fate

As Helios' Chariot cuts through the dusk

The light shines on the forlorn husk

A mask of terror, locked in fright

The wraith returns to its grave... Until the next night