Gather round one and all, and listen to
Our cry,
We are the ghosts long forgotten, calling
Out as you pass us by.
After so many years our shouts become
Whispers, out whispers an airy breath,
While all around the rotting fog is stained
With the stench of our death.
One day you'll find that you too shall come
To face,
The hell that is our torment in this dark and
Miserable place.
So show us no pity, for your souls will not
Be spared,
You too must face the fire, and none among
Us will have cared.
Life is too precious, so why linger on those
Who are dead?
So when you next lay to sleep, picture the
Rising sun in your head,
It may be the last time that you ever look
Upon this sight,
So treasure it always, then prepare for the
Night
Say, we are the ghosts of times long passed,
Remember our hallowed voice.
The next time you hear my spoken words,
It will have not been by choice.
Yet I give you my hand, to guide you through
The fog,
Then say your goodbye to the mortal clean
Air, and welcome in the eternal smog.
