A cozy coffin, a rainy day, a swinging corpse now half decayed, the gallows' gathered murder's caws, and in my grave, I stop and pause and listen to the evening's song. What song! Oh how for darkness I do long, but till the sun falls in the sea, I must stay here; may hear, not see. What great darkness hides in the light what wicked deeds keep from my sight, and all I get to know, I learn by sound all faintly heard here underground.
Wicked Ears
Tale Told 