The witching hour is drawing near,
Death has come to claim me, I fear.
I feel the chill deep in my head;
The clock keeps ticking near my bed.
Darkness falls a heavy shroud,
The silence screams, though not aloud.
Will I rest quietly in eternal sleep,
Or will i roam the land as I weep?
With so many Words left unsaid,
What will i do when I am dead?
Or will a wake as from a dream,
At dawn of day with a scream?
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