Shadows form, into silent armies, of the wandering souls of wights
In league with the ravening darkness and death's rudimentary rites
Lost from memories and dreams, they are the shifting empty space
Extinguished ephemeral matter, they were once of the human race
Not in Heaven or Hell, for there is no afterlife, as described by liars
Their final unresting place is betwixt the icy cold and burning pyres
And they are rank and file and all together, but cannot take or give
Ranging beyond the daylight, they can only feed on those who live
Mourning breaks, but the day is lost to transgressing twilight forms
Inundating through open portals to slake and drown in quiet storms
Eventide fades to lifeless night and beyond the reach of terra firma
Silent armies will douse each shining light, without a dying murmur
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