Hymn of The Necromancers

Pale soul,
Pale soul,
Take me to a land where I may be made whole,
A land where the sun never sets,
Because it never rises,
A land where lust and greed never recede,
And need not hide behind artificial disguises,  
I want to lay my spirit to rest inside a grey place,
Where women can be wanton without disgrace,
Where I can horde the gems and count the silver,
Without the slightest slither of regret,
A land where I can be respected as a dark poet,
Who composes his pieces,
Beneath a firmament of shivering twilight,
Does not the artist retain the right,
To sculpt his creations into the form of the macabre?
Since birth I have done well,
At crafting my soul into a sculpture,
That is neither pure enough to grace the Halls of Heaven,
Nor tainted enough to reside in Hell,
Somewhere there must exist another place,
Pale soul,
Pale soul,
Guide me there posthaste….
--Hymn of the Necromancers