I feel its grip around my throat,
Death’s cold and grasping hand,
While the soul I once was tied to,
Drifts free far above this land,
The towns stretched out below me,
See no shadow as I pass,
No gust of breeze to prove I’m there,
I do not stir the grass,
Is this the final darkness,
Is this the thing we’d come to fear?
Not a total sense of nothing,
But no-one knowing we are here?
For I beg of night to take me,
I’d prefer to have never been,
Than this eternity of torture,
Where I can see but can’t be seen.