There is a sadness to the light that lingers in these woods,
left behind by the sun’s passing
as though the trees know that the day is dying...
In the winter there came knocking at my door
A voiceless fiend that would only point upward
To a ceiling veined with wood rot and rusted nails...
I’ve seen this back alley before
In the haze of a dream world, though awake
These blinding lights strike me as familiar
Behind the door up ahead a staircase descends
Into an underworld that awaits my return
Staring beyond the depths of the cup in my hands
Into a past I long to know
The view from atop the boneyard pile
Is a steep descent into rolling madness.