Of vacant rooms
The emptiness
Sounds hollow.
Your words
Echo in my brain,
Like footsteps
Down a hallway.
Nights are desolate;
The Moon rides high
And I,
Haunted by dark kisses,
Scry the blackness
For a sign
Beyond
The arts of witches.
The emptiness
Sounds hollow.
Your words
Echo in my brain,
Like footsteps
Down a hallway.
Nights are desolate;
The Moon rides high
And I,
Haunted by dark kisses,
Scry the blackness
For a sign
Beyond
The arts of witches.