And smother flying souls that pass.
Spawns of the cellars; evil slime;
Heed not their calling, lest they climb
As rays of light upon thy face,
And steal thy spirit's resting place.
Wraiths of corruption, creep not in;
For though their minds be steeped in sin,
They hold a germ of terror yet,
That baffles every evil met.
Seed of the tombstone, enter now;