Dead of the Dead

Solace lacks in the crimson night Diabolical vindictiveness lessens the light Drink up your absinthe and feed on unsheltered prey Not to walk beneath unmarked shadows at day Fearing the loneliness consuming your soul As well, blood sinfully shed for sense of control Courting dread mentally within your being And loosing sight in what you are seeing The corpse of the earth keeps proposition in sight When you are walking alone in the dead of the night