The playground of sympathetic spirits—listen to their words:

Your eyelashes, I rip them out.
Your eyelids, I pull them back.
White fury bulging forth, black beads expanding out—
No veins to carry what the heart cannot bear.
Stare back, oh eyes of murder;
Catch your last glimpse.
Strain for moisture and for the living water that left a desert:
Your soul.
With lips of sugar, sweet and poisonous,
I kiss your sight away.
Remember the pain, the curse left for you.
Remember the names, the ones darkened by you.
Stare back, oh eyes of murder;
Catch your last light!
There is nothing left for you;
What is left is theirs.

Forget us, our dreams lay elsewhere.

The playground of sympathetic spirits—listen to their words:

Be wise with all endeavors of the heart. Stand firmly against the unyielding allure of the persuasive dawn. With the stone-written beliefs of your faith, you cannot fail. And if you have none, then you have not sought deep enough into the haunting core of your existence; for wisdom starts with faith—faith in something, anything. Do not mock the unknown, for it is what births each new death of what once was. Without it, meaning is but the forsaken ghoul’s curse.

In judgments, opinions, and all ceremonies of voice, begin first with understanding: the listening and the interpretation. Only then can insight be heir in the acts of tongue. Conjure respect as well, even though it is not given in return. Demeanor alone can change the fate of the ages and rule the armies of darkness.

If ever the battle of heart and mind ensues, then go with the first and be forever steadfast.

Forget us not, our dreams lay with you.

The playground of sympathetic spirits—listen to their words:

VERSE I

Give of your heart
To the solstice of your soul,
When the goblins dance
And sing in soothing seething.

Leave for the dead
All of withered wonders past
While you tread through the black
with wings of retribution.

CHORUS

Build a castle high
On rock and broken bones;
Shelter for the wise.

Train the restless soil
With faith and hallowed prayers;
Raise it from the grave.

VERSE II

One last romance
For the lonely of a world
Where fire rests in air
And burning is traditional

Wounds to the sky,
Do you ever wonder why
There are nightmare things
That have unholy power?

CHORUS

Build a castle high
On rock and broken bones;
Shelter for the wise.

Train the restless soil
With faith and hallowed prayers;
Raise it from the grave.

Forget us not, our dreams lay with you.

The playground of sympathetic spirits—listen to their words:

Be generous with all endeavors of the heart. Though the transgressions of the damned extend beyond the reaches of remorse, its cavity of fruitful gestures erases all mortiferous debt. Ask and be given, even if the dense poltergeists of decay do not have the eyes to see the portal of escape behind the lone tomb’s stone.

If anything at all matters in the end—and it does—then make it known; make it scream; make it groan; make it battle the tormenting pains that never die. Give much instead of little and lose much instead of less. Be gentle in your time, forgetting not that all actions supersede the destructible fate. Mercy can change—even those embers unstill might eventually unlearn their heat.

Forget us not, our dreams lay with you.

The playground of sympathetic spirits—listen to their words:

Be brave with all endeavors of the heart. It is your guide into the unknown and your guardian amongst the eminent. Only but its voice of unceasing song can cradle the lurid dissonance of discord.

When the graves are emptied and the tombs evacuated, one resting place finds the miracle of death. Hold tight—hold desperately—to the blood within and all it witholds. It knows better than you, and has since before time, so let it now bring you tears of unabashed joy, not the wage of sequestering sin.

Forget us not, our dreams lay with you.