Manhack - The Concealer

Chills of frigid air breeze through these sheets
A shadow without a corpse now roams our streets

Dug below a grave that most came to shun
Resurface above everything they wish to become
Appearing under a blanket of darkness
Disappearing under the glare of the forgotten sun

I am not insane

The dead walk beside the breathless who speak
I know what I've seen and what's been brought before me
I witness her cry, not another face hides
Alone in this room, a pale beauty still breaths

Chills of frigid air breeze through these sheets
A shadow without a corpse now roams our streets
Alone in a crowded room of wandering souls
White knuckles clinch, only thoughts controlled
A silent plea to simply be seen

As ghosts of men, we embrace the end