songs made of whispers    silent screams like a choral of the dead    needles prick the softest skin    and the breeze screams bloodlust       these eyes    gazing over the hilltops burning red    the night skies seem to follow me    blanketing me with crowds of grey and black    the crowd of the damned screams       eyes shown red    raise the dead x2       the breeze    screaming over the whispers in the dark    setting the leaves in sway    hanging there like a body from the raftors    smiling back at me       eyes shown red    raise the dead x2       they wait    in eager circles for me    to stagger into the darkness    these images that i have seen    they still burn inside of me    they still burn inside of me    they still burn, in me