An old man in a pure kind of pain
Never able to get relief
Cried for his past
Knowing he was never going back
And it made him feel insane
Wrote his children a letter
Goodbye my family
I am ready
Carry me home to dark oblivion
Carry my dead body
To the grove of lifeless trees
Where a distant voice is singing
Sad anthems for the lost
Show no distress, for I'll be alone
Deep in the Stygian wastes
My disembodied spirit freed
With clarion bells ringing
Smoke rising high aloft
The pyre is ready so let it burn
Should there be remaining
Any of my flesh, unconsumed
Dig a whole deep
And bury me there
Let me be free
Free from living doom
“Never did tombs look so ghastly white. Never did cypress, or yew, or juniper
so seem the embodiment of funeral gloom. Never did tree or grass wave or
rustle so ominously. Never did bough creak so mysteriously, and never did
the far-away howling of dogs send such a woeful presage through the night.”
Bram Stoker
