These ghosts keep coming back, with serrated words and bedeviled eyes. I feel the devil in them, but maybe the devil is in me. Not even sleep provides respite, since dreams only bring them to life.
This panic, passionately grasping grips me, this waking torment. Misery, a dear friend, its companion woe, tear this soul like a butcher ripping tendons from bone.
Devilish ghouls arise from specters, touting proposals of damnation. Subtly whispering of pasts failed, futures denied - doubt, the subtle seeds of destruction are planted.
This gory place deep in a soul of darkness goes nowhere. The lights are failing, the exit seemingly unavailable. The horror sets in, as ghosts take shape in the shadows, waiting, waiting.
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In darkness let me dwell; the ground shall sorrow be,
The roof despair, to bar all cheerful light from me;
The walls of marble black, that moist'ned still shall weep;
My music, hellish jarring sounds, to banish friendly sleep.
Thus, wedded to my woes, and bedded in my tomb,
O let me dying live, till death doth come, till death doth come.
-John Dowland
It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.
The roof despair, to bar all cheerful light from me;
The walls of marble black, that moist'ned still shall weep;
My music, hellish jarring sounds, to banish friendly sleep.
Thus, wedded to my woes, and bedded in my tomb,
O let me dying live, till death doth come, till death doth come.
-John Dowland