Sheol

They're lost and in thrall to darkness as they descend

Into the netherworld where there's no time to wend

They once scoured the heavens from their pits of toil

But when they passed they were led beneath the soil

There's a path to the deepest of all the darkest depths

Where the milling shadows along its course are swept

Into the inky silent stillness, where all mortals follow

The final place when there's no more time to borrow

In Sheol they'll be, even if the living try to find an ember

And seek out the souls of shades, like the Witch of Endor

With necromancy the dead'll stir, but they'll never leave

But they may shape the darkness for those who grieve

Conjuration will never raise the dead, for we are them

When all we are is drifting shadows, it's not if, but when

We're all in thrall to darkness, when the last light fades

And we descend into the netherworld of Sheol's shades