Upon the Midnight Hour

Souls cry out and weep,
Upon the Midnight Hour.
I can never sleep
In the cold dark tower.

The light lies in wait
Until the day it may shine.
It bubbles and festers in hate,
This cold, dull blade forever mine.

In the dead of night I see
This cold blades need for blood.
The great gift that could be,
The joys of the flesh, stained with mud.

He comes invisible and silent,
As I lay awake in pain.
Death comes with a mind not bent.
I see, now, He is my bane.

Upon this Midnight Hour,
With a mind that will never shift,
In this cold, dark tower,
Death has brought a gift.

He is my savior from this life.
I will not accuse him of theft.
I will my cold knife.
For in this world I have nothing left.