In all these years it often seems as though the moonlight
always beams
Into my nightmares and my dreams, a moon that beames so
cruel and harsh
Upon this damp, unholy marsh, and every night that I can't
sleep
I dream of graves dug not so deep, and what they hide I fear
would creep
Upon the chamber where I laid. Buried with my mental spade,
Emotions I had hoped would fade, inside the bed that I had
made.

I glimpse the phosphorescent light upon the turning of the
night
And shudder at the thought of sight of spirits bearing human
form,
Within the winds of this great storm. Echoing through the
darkened halls
Rain drops tapping on the walls as from the skies a river
falls.
I would not - could not - make my eyes see the terror that
now lies,
Those ghost whose echoing shrieks and cries sound beneath
these wretched skies.

The ghost-lights in the misty air, to sit and watch I cannot
bear,
Running back and down the stair, I hear them knocking on my
door,
Then pacing on my kitchen floor. I dash outside into the
rain,
Their voices echoing in my brain. Searching in my home in
vain,
I have no doubt to why they came: they wish to find someone
to blame,
To place the guilt and endless shame of rape and murder on
my name.

I go into the forest dark, where few have ever dared
embark,
To seek the Cypress that should mark a hallowed spot, that
haunted place
Where often I had come to face daemons of a different kind:
Of the spirit and the mind. In that place I know I'll find
Some isolated spot outside where men or spirits ever ride.
Waiting there I hope to hide until the turning of the tide.


Beside the Cypress, long lost friends returning hence to tie
loose ends
I thought I'd try to make amends, but what I saw I could not
brave,
For where once lay an unmarked grave - desolate and all
alone,
A tomb that only I had known, a mound from which the grass
once grown -
A river of mud now seems to flow, the rain decreases and it
starts to slow,
And under the moonlight's curséd glow, I could see
that nothing is buried below!

Once I thought that I had dealt with these emotions that I
felt,
But now it seems that she who dwelt inside the shallow
swamp-mud home
Returned above the mud to roam the very spot where she has
died.
She'd known exactly where I'd hide, or followed me in
running stride,
And now beyond all other fear - though her image was unclear
-
I am certain I can hear her heavy footsteps coming near!

An evil moon in darkened skies, the dead are alive - I hear
their cries!
Piercing through my coat of lies - under the greenish light
of the moon -
The daemons will be upon me soon! They'll find me here,
confessing in screams -
Beneath those mystic silver beams - the clouds dispersed and
now it seems
They're men upon which shadows played, that found her,
washed up from where she laid,
They have come to save me, as I prayed! I confess, I
confess, it was my blade!