What Follows After Midnight

I should have turned away that bitter night,

When shadows whispered secrets through the gloom.

Now phantom footsteps follow in my sight.

The candle flickers, something isn't right.

Dead flowers wilt and wither in my room.

I should have turned away that bitter night.

Her portrait stares with eyes of waxen white,

And moths collect like mourners at a tomb.

Now phantom footsteps follow in my sight.

The mirrors all reflect a blighted blight,

My face grows gaunt, a specter I assume.

I should have turned away that bitter night.

Each hour crawls with ceremonial fright,

The pendulum that measures out my doom.

Now phantom footsteps follow in my sight.

I cannot sleep, I cannot bear the light,

The past returns to seal me in this womb.

I should have turned away that bitter night.

Now phantom footsteps follow in my sight.