Strike that of the moon, which rises, upon darkened sea,

And burn the blackened waves that endeavor to engulf me,

Cast now your suspicions upon their silvery glow,

For they lull the sleep of shadows, that chase the lost souls

For lingering is their calling, and deadly their whispering cry,

as they beneath weary fathoms, wait in silence for me to die.

Yeah, for it is there in this watery grave that their desires be fully known,

for I am soon to face this blackness, and reside in the darkness alone.

So when you see the moon of bones rise, upon a darkened sea,

Listen to its mournful cry, and cast forth your silent prayers for me.

For beneath this shimmering silver façade, which your mortal eyes partake,

Lies the spirits of many lost souls that this ocean of darkness did forsake.

 

J. Allen Wilson © 2004