Hymn of the Haunted

The clock upon the wall had stopped at 13 after ten

The last kind words were spoken, darkness had returned again

Winter haunted early, the warmth of sunlight thinned

Voices on the radio condemned the souls of men

The gardens turned to graves, there were cries within the wind

They whispered that the saints, were merely charlatans

The children’s hearts were bruised from all the parents’ sins

The executioner of torment - Mother Mercy’s Siamese twin

The drug of desperation - drove the father to give in

Our fate was set in motion - the ceremony would begin

Worship at the woodshed, to mutilate the shame within

Salvation for the innocents, replaced by blood-stained skin

Forgiveness turned to madness, the wren had ceased to sing

Summer songs were skeletons - the snow swirled beneath the wind

Addiction to asylum – the walls imprisoned all within

Tortured minds could not remember the way that things had been

Cemetery silhouettes bow before a rotting king

The soul of what was sacred, would never be again

The icons all had crumbled, the blasphemy would win

Mesmerized they closed their eyes and sang unholy hymns

Footsteps down the stairwell – the owl takes to wing

The apparition of her death, the horror that it would bring

Shadows on the floorboards - abomination sings

The boy was gone he was replaced by a reflection from within

Fear divided haunted minds, pain in his heart brimmed

Old house bones – walls and wood, had turned to flesh and skin

Empty and forgotten, tangled and untrimmed

The injury of ignorance repeats itself again

Voices are like signals - when the veil’s thin

I think that I can hear him, call from where he’s been

A faint voice in the distance a ghost that’s growing dim

I listen but I am not sure, is it me, or am I him?