Drifting Silence through the halls,
whisper to yourself in drawls.
Pleading for eternal rest, but
bleeding hearts win leaking chests.
O Aimless Sorrow, always keeps
a rolling fog, with which it weeps.
You sigh a wish for astral home,
yet languidly my den you roam.
I pray that soon you’ll find your sleep,
or find new halls to mutely creep.