Oleander nights, reverie of the cold and dizzying heights
Open wide is the summit of the mountain, for the acolyte

Forgotten designs and a thousand years of tears, neglect
Where the sigils shine while walls whine, the home of the dark architect

Faint in the walls, where the alderman is buried
The anger of a mother, a child miscarried
And the shaking walls, the sentimental halls, down

Creating the wraith

The tortured spirits warn to heed their calls
Where the brick creaks and shadows fall

The acolyte confides in their torment
To create the wraith

Creating the wraith

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