Phantoms pressed inside the walls,

                    faces with mouths open wide,

crying as I try to walk,

                     down the slanted, narrow hall.

Touching cold and hollow floors,

                     hearing whispers in my head,

wishing somehow They would know...

                     that I'm thinking of the dead.

How I got here, I don't know,

                    but, I realize the truth,

that some souls must tread a path,

                    'till the Dark...will someday pass.