| There’s a time called the twelfth night
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| When the unseen follow my way home
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| On these nights just this once
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| You can find their between world
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| The churchyard of all the haunting souls
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| Listen to what I say
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| Hear the voices on winter days
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| Resonations of their bitter world
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| Inside «The Land of the Shadows»
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| I’ll find «The Shape of Unseen»
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| Within «The Dreams of a Ghostseer»
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| These evil poems calling me
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| This is calling me
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| Searching trails to the ghost world
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| No we are not alone
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| All these lanterns
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| Are projectors of the city lights
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| They make my shadow
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| Dance a waltz with the snowflakes
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| Or are these portraits of inhuman souls
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| Zombies ignite my fears
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| But why for so many years
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| They’ve got better things to do
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| Than scare me
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| Inside «The Land of the Shadows»
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| I’ll find «The Shape of Unseen»
|
| Within «The Dreams of a Ghostseer»
|
| These evil poems calling me
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| Some metaphysical writings
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| From an anonymous author
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| Who wrote: «The Inhabitants of My Diary»
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| Evil flowers of a necromancy
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| Are devils' poetry
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| And this is calling me
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| Sail on boatsman sail on by
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| Sweet litany
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| Is calling me
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| Open the tides dark friend
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| To let them in
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| This is my last chance
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| They accuse me of a murder
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| Invade my mind
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| Misplace my memories
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| Say that I’m a failure. |
| .
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| And then they’re sailing away
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| But I still see them unclearly
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| They’re sailing away again
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| I have to follow them tonight
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| Into «The Land of the Shadows»
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| To find «The Shape of Unseen»
|
| Within «The Dreams of a Ghostseer»
|
| Their evil poems calling me
|
| And this is calling me. |
| .
|
| Some metaphysical writings
|
| From an anonymous author
|
| Who wrote: «The Inhabitants of My Diary»
|
| These evil flowers of necromancy
|
| Are devils' poetry
|
| And this is calling me |