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I am plagued, as if the moon's curse had drained even the marrow from my bones,
Yearning for the escape of a slowed heart for repose, I may not wake
O moon, let the roots of this ancient tree be my cradle in the bitter mist,
As it towers above me damp leaves and earth may cling to my skin
O darkness, let thy arms carry me

Plagued by nightmares, countless restless spirits lay their siege
Like so many a frightened child, each would unleash their torment upon me,
Thousands of tales from all of time, waves they crash through restless sleep
Barred for an eternity from any reprise, these relics left with nothing but

Anguish, and unseen lips that speak of days of old,
And spit malevolence in the shade
“Wide is your flight, O spirits of Night,”
In the depths of the mountains where you were left to die;
Your souls decline into madness, forever without closure

Torture the living; heedless of yourselves
I see the withering visages, clear as day

The unwanted in their endless rage, I see each body's slow decay.
Desolation, as the throat gets parched, and each stomach contorts for lack of substance
I feel the wounds as if they were my own

Deep within this forest womb
Deep within the Ubasute tomb
These visions harsh and plentiful
In fear, I may not wake

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