Spirits of the Dead

Among the crypts and grey tombstones

The Spirits did appear

Where life escaped but not the souls

Mortally bound in fear

Their voice is like a whisper

Appearance brief and fey

Visions of holy sinners

Not seen by light of day

Spirits Of The Dead

Holy Fire

Burning the brain

Crossed with desire

Reincarnate

They stood before, here

Now laid to rest

Trapped by their own fear

To make The Quest

Spectres climbing through the mist

Where the mourners tread

Apparitions from the past

Eyes now orbs of red

They're Spirits Of The Dead

Born of The Fire

I have come

Unto The Fire

I shall return

Know well thy soul's path

Don't bar it's way

Hell has the last laugh

For those who stay